


Everything in Life is Just for a While

by autotunedd



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Hand-job, M/M, Set in S7 but before the finale, Shiro has vague ptsd, Sparring, fake deep, keith is in looove, lowkey body worship .. and everything worship, mentions of adam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autotunedd/pseuds/autotunedd
Summary: Shiro fights beautifully. It’s no surprise. Keith has seen him fight a hundred times in every variation. As Slav would say, there is no reality in which Shiro can’t fight.___Three scenes set around the end of S7 which lead to them coming clean about their feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
Shiro fights beautifully. It’s no surprise. Keith has seen him fight a hundred times in every variation. As Slav would say, there is no reality in which Shiro can’t fight. When they were younger, in the Garrison, Shiro would spar with the other cadets. He was a good boxer. He was even better with sticks. Whatever you threw at him, he adapted. He was a survivor. He had finite time to enjoy his health and his stamina, so he pushed himself to his limits.  
  
Adam was an enabler. Keith remembers him. Not very well, but he can see his face in his minds eye. He remembers the closeness Shiro had with him. He remembers Adam’s presence in so many of those sparring rounds in the gym. He would sneak in there sometimes and watch Shiro fight. He was beautiful, really. Everyone thought so. Adam would stand on the sidelines and offer suggestions or distractions depending on the day, but he always had love in his eyes. He was always appraising him. Sometimes, Keith would get too close and their eyes would meet looking at Shiro.  
  
Adam isn’t here anymore, but Shiro is in the same training room now. He is sparring with some of the cadets. Keith recognises the MFE pilots. Around the mat is a smattering of officers and guards doing rec time. By the sheen on Shiro’s skin, Keith can tell he’s been in here for a while and drawn a crowd. Even for someone uninterested in sparring, it would be hard to peek in the doorway and keep walking. Shiro is wearing a skin-tight tank top, revealing muscles even more defined than when he left years earlier. He is a human recruitment poster. That would be reason enough for most people to sit and stare, but his lack of clothes reveals the full extent of his prosthetic arm. Finally, everyone can see where skin meets metal.  
  
Keith didn’t mean to stop. He has seen Shiro fight before, but there was something in Shiro’s movements today as he walked past, drawn in by the noises. He watched Shiro knock a cadet off his feet and something stirred in his gut. Shiro is _off_. Keith can practically smell it. He is sparring to scratch an itch but it isn’t satisfying him. Outwardly, he is his usual self, but Keith can see the undercurrent of something animal in him; something barely restrained. Shiro needs to expend his stress.  
  
So, Keith stops in—just for a minute. That’s what he means to do anyway, but one cadet hits the mat and then another. Shiro passes the sticks to each new opponent like he is passing a baton, and they each let him down, one by one. Shiro wants to fight but no-one can match him. It’s no surprise. Keith wonders how many of them know the particulars of Shiro’s life since Kerberos. He hasn’t paid attention to which facts have trickled down to become general knowledge or whispered rumours. How many people here know that Shiro survived and triumphed in a Galra gladiator pit? Probably none. Who would accept the challenge if they did? Who would know what it meant?  
  
Keith leans forward in his seat, hidden at the back of bleachers. He rests his chin on the heel of his palm and watches the current fight unfold. He doesn’t recognise Shiro’s opponent but he looks familiar. An officer, maybe. The man lunges, swinging his two sticks down from above trying to strike Shiro’s collar like the killing blow of a sword. Shiro parries easily with his one, avoiding contact. He retaliates and the butt of his stick strikes the man square in the stomach.  
  
The man stumbles back, bent at the middle. Shiro doesn’t react. He straightens and waits. He doesn’t check on the man or coddle him. He knows as well as everyone, these sessions are a point of pride. He simply prepares for the next volley.  
  
The officer recovers quickly, his face pained and flushed. Keith can sense his anger and embarrassment from across the room. Already, the conclusion of this match is obvious. The man is emotional. He will overcompensate and make mistakes. Shiro takes a step back and moves around the man in a slow arc, waiting for him to make the first move. When he does, it’s with a wild slashing motion, undisciplined. He lunges at Shiro again, forgoing technique for strength. He goes at Shiro hard, both sticks slashing at and coming down on him in a rain of blows. Shiro steps back, avoiding a hit to the face and hushed whispers rise in the audience. Keith feels himself tense up.  
  
‘Patience,’ Shiro cautions.  
  
The man ignores his warning. Shiro steps forward, easily knocking the man’s stomach a second time. He growls in frustration and knocks Shiro’s weapon aside, spinning in a quick circle to gain the momentum necessary to hit harder—but Shiro exploits his naivety. He jabs the end of his stick between the man’s legs. He is knocked off his feet and hits the ground hard.  
  
Shiro straightens and offers the man on the ground his hand. The match is over.  
  
‘Don’t turn your back unless its necessary’.  
  
The man takes Shiro’s hand and lets himself be hauled up, visibly disgruntled. He says nothing. He just throws his sticks on the ground and pushes his way back through the crowd. Shiro watches him retreat, disappointed.  
  
For Shiro, sparring is an opportunity. These are teaching moments. He can impart skills and knowledge. He wants everyone who takes the mat with him to walk away better than when they arrived. He doesn’t want to humiliate anyone. You can’t learn through humiliation.  
  
‘Anyone else?’  
  
‘I’ll spar’.  
  
Keith frowns seeing the body now pushing its way to the front of the mat. _James._ He picks up the thrown-down sticks and spins them through his fingers, putting on a little show as he twirls them, crossing his arms then raising one above his head, constantly in motion. It’s an impressive show of dexterity and skill, and the crowd whispers their approval. Keith scowls from his hidden corner.  
  
Shiro smiles and pulls the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his face.  
  
‘James. Are you ready?’  
  
Keith twitches at the informality. Shiro always calls people by their names when he’s off duty. He did in the early days at the Garrison and he is sticking to it now despite the bureaucracy constantly calling him out. Shiro is a leader. Keith knows that. He was born with it. He doesn’t have to rely on the rules and regulations the commanders around him are desperate to instil. He knows the best way to reach people. He knows to show respect in order to receive it. Remembering and calling people by their names is one of the myriad ways Shiro inspires trust.  
  
Keith _knows_ that, but James grates on his nerves. He doesn’t want Shiro saying his name. It implies a level of _intimacy_. Old resentments simmer beneath the surface. Keith remembers the satisfaction of decking him when they were teenagers. His fist clenches now subconsciously, eager to do it again. As kids, they were too alike. Since Voltron and the Blade of Marmora, he has changed. He has become disciplined. He has learned to shed his arrogance. Outwardly at least, James hasn’t. He still sneers, over-confident. Since being back at the Garrison, James has followed Shiro around, over-eager to please him. Eager to show him how good he really is. He thinks he is Shiro’s successor. Keith watches them come together now on the mat and his jaw clenches.  
  
James raises his sticks with a cavalier smile.  
  
‘Are you sure about this, Sir? You look tired. I don’t want to hurt you’.  
  
Shiro laughs good naturedly and signals him forward.  
  
‘I appreciate your confidence. Let’s see what you’ve got’.  
  
Without prolonging the introduction, James goes on the offensive. He lunges at Shiro but not haphazardly. By watching the last match, he has identified Shiro’s weakest area and gone straight for it. Regardless, Shiro beats him back with ease. His footwork is careful. He is hyper-aware of their surroundings. As James works on exploiting Shiro’s defence, Shiro manoeuvres James without him realising, backing him into a metaphorical corner where he will have less freedom of movement.  
  
James realises belatedly and swings both sticks down from above to try and beat him back, but Shiro blocks them, knocking them to the side with such force James stumbles back into the crowd. Keith watches it unfold with satisfaction. Shiro fights with precision. It’s been a long time since he’s watched him fight like this. If he doesn’t count his time with the clone, he hasn’t watched Shiro fight or spar in a controlled space since their first few weeks on the Castle of Lions. Since being back on Earth, he has noticed Shiro’s schedule evolve to incorporate more of these sessions. Sometimes he works out on his own. Other times, a crowd forms and he spars with the cadets. He teaches them. He is pushing himself more and more as time goes on, but Keith can’t blame him. The stress of their situation is unrelenting. What Shiro does in this room is a distraction, not just for himself but everyone else too, from the horrors taking place outside. Teaching everyone how to fight and defend themselves may not save their lives, but it occupies their free time and makes them less afraid. It makes them believe that when the particle barrier comes down, they can save their families.  
  
Sticks clash and Keith watches James make a passionate push forward, coming at Shiro relentlessly from above, from the sides and from below. He sweeps a stick low but Shiro dodges it and James retreats, regaining his breath. He turns his back and Keith is surprised by the simple mistake. He watches Shiro’s prosthetic arm travel low by James’ ankle, unseen.  
  
James hits the mat hard on his front and looks up, surprised. Shiro shrugs knowingly and James scrambles to his feet, confused. He watches Shiro’s prosthetic return to its place and pieces together what happened. It tripped him.  
  
‘That’s not fair’.  
  
‘War’s not fair,’ Shiro answers. ‘A fight isn’t fair’.  
  
James rests his weight on one leg and holds both sticks lax in one hand. He looks frustrated by the changing rules of the game. He didn’t account for this. In their early Garrison days, James was bold and overconfident because he planned ahead. He was prepared for every eventuality and scrupulously trained for every outcome. It was why the two of them clashed. Keith learned and grew by instinct. They were incompatible. Maybe James expected Shiro to best him with his strength or tactics honed through his experiences with Voltron. He didn’t expect Shiro to _cheat._  
  
‘This isn’t part of our training,’ James says. ‘How many people out there have a disembodied hand I’ll have to contend with?’  
  
‘That’s irrelevant. You should be thinking about _this_ fight. I’m your opponent. I do have a prosthetic. You should have accounted for it’.  
  
‘You didn’t use it with Brinkley’.  
  
‘Every fight is different. Don’t get complacent’.  
  
James flushes at the suggestion. Since Shiro’s disappearance and Keith’s ejection from the Garrison, James has become an untouchable star. Keith can already see he’s grown used to being an indispensable asset. For Shiro to suggest there is room for improvement is a blow, even if Shiro’s words _are_ encouragement. Even if you’re the best, you can be better. Shiro wants everyone to know that. He wants everyone to be the best they can be.  
  
‘Why are we training like this?’ James asks. ‘This isn’t how we’ll win the war. I’m a pilot’.  
  
Shiro lowers his stick in surprise. It’s a loaded statement with everything Keith knows. Shiro was a pilot and what happened to him? He was forced to fight in a gladiator pit. He had to keep himself alive for a year and every day, week, month and year since. Weapons are unreliable.  
  
‘I can’t tell you how many times I had to fight with my bare hands,’ Shiro says seriously, ‘or _hand_. You have to be prepared. If you can’t fight without your ship, you’re less valuable than someone who can’.  
  
‘I’m the best pilot we have’.  
  
‘So was I’.  
  
James tenses and Keith wonders if he’ll let his frustration overtake him like the last guy. To his credit, he releases his tension and nods.  
  
‘Alright. Let’s go again’.  
  
Shiro floats his arm into the small of his back and James’ eyes widen. A hush goes through the crowd anticipating a spectacle.  
  
‘That isn’t fair either, you can’t fight me one-handed’.  
  
‘Why not?’ Shiro asks. ‘It will force you to think’.  
  
James hesitates and Keith can see why. He thinks he can best Shiro one handed. He thinks this handicap will even the playing field. He’s worried about the repercussions of knocking Shiro down in front of all these people. At the same time, he smiles. The idea excites him. He wants everyone in this room to know what he can do. He wants to reaffirm his place as the Garrison’s best hope. He wants Shiro to be impressed.  
  
Keith expects something different in round two. James’ confidence is so pronounced, he is convinced he has a plan; that he has learned from his mistakes in the last fight and compensated for them. But he hasn’t. Keith watches them fight and it’s too similar to before. James changes nothing but his energy. This time, he fights harder. He thinks he can win by force and speed, playing on Shiro’s fatigue. Keith folds his arms across his chest, stunned. Shiro is pure muscle. He is in peak condition, tired or no. It would be next to impossible to best him without a plan.  
  
Time proves it. They spar for two minutes but Shiro knocks James down again, and he hits the mat hard. He is red-faced and out of breath when he gets back to his feet. He is embarrassed but hides it well. He wants everyone to think it was a good close fight. Keith knows better. Shiro went easy on him. James’ loss vindicates him. It makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. Sure, James can fly and he’ll be an asset when the shit hits the fan, but in here? One on one? He wants him to fail.  
  
Shiro lifts his shirt again and wipes the sweat from his face. Keith’s eyes linger on his stomach. All the sparring has made Shiro’s muscles swell. He looks good. He doesn’t look tired. He looks vibrantly alive and Keith savours it because he has held Shiro’s broken, battered body in his arms enough times for one lifetime.  
  
The crowd chitters in the interlude, but this time, there are no new takers. Shiro waits for a new contender but none step forward and Keith grimaces, disappointed. He has missed Shiro. It is nice to watch him, unseen.  
  
Feeling a tightness in his calf from inactivity, he slips quietly off the bleachers and heads for the door, but he is stopped in his tracks by Shiro’s domineering voice.  
  
‘What about you, Keith? We’re evenly matched. Want to show them how it’s done?’  
  
Shiro turns to Keith’s hiding place, as if he knew the whole time he was there. Keith flushes but steps out of the shadows, dwelling on Shiro’s simple words and the fact he said them so freely in front of all of these people. He thinks they’re evenly matched. People clear a path for him and Keith sees the eyes of everyone in the room scrutinising his appearance as he passes. They all do the same double-take, their eyes comparing Shiro’s size with his own. James, still on the mat, does the same.  
  
Keith makes his way to the centre and ignores the hushed whispers. Deep down, he knows he and Shiro _are_ evenly matched. Nobody in this room knows what happened to them. Nobody here knows they were made to fight to the death, that Shiro put the scar on his face, or that he severed his arm in return. They were evenly matched in that fight. Even when the stakes changed, when Shiro’s Galra arm became stronger, Keith had hidden reserves of his own. His Galra instincts helped him survive. That wasn’t Shiro in the fight, but he has those memories now. The clone’s experiences have become his own, and they haven’t sparred since.  
  
Keith worries about sparring now, for the first time since the facility. What if they fight and it triggers something? He doesn’t want to throw a fist and suddenly find himself on that platform again with Shiro beating down on him, telling him to _just let go_. He never talked through what happened there, but it plagued his dreams and nightmares for weeks. Shiro would morph in his memories. It was hard. It’s hard now seeing Shiro’s new arm.  
  
Keith steps forward and James passes him the sticks. They are still warm. Keith tightens his grip on the wood in his palm. It feels nice in his hands. He has spent years perfecting his skills with his blade. Wielding a stick is similar. Shiro has had experience of his own. His old Galra arm became a sword. They both know to fight like this.  
  
Keith throws one of his sticks off the mat and twirls the one in his hand, adjusting to the weight of it, figuring out his grip. Shiro smiles at this development, knowing better than the cadets, it’s often easier to fight with one than two.  
  
‘Are you ready?’ Shiro asks.  
  
‘Are _you?’_  
  
Keith feels a flash of indecision about doing this—but Shiro readies himself and the muscles in his whole arm flex and Keith feels a wave of desire to be closer to him. They have seen so little of each other since Allura brought Shiro back. Sometimes, on their journey back to earth, when the passengers would rotate, Shiro would join him in the black lion and they would sleep together on an uncomfortable bunk. With his mother always in the room, they didn’t get to talk, but Keith hoped they were communicating without saying things aloud. When Shiro would wake with a start, eyes wide and afraid, Keith would hold onto him tightly. He understood the aftereffects of Shiro’s experiences. Shiro braved the dark silently, but Keith could tell it was hard for him, that it brought back memories of the void. Sleeping next to him made a difference. When Shiro had nightmares and woke, he needed to know where he was. He needed to know he wasn’t alone.  
  
So, Keith got used to being there. He got used to sleeping with his head on Shiro’s shoulder. He got used to his body heat and the way his chest would rise and fall. Here, in the Garrison— some of their closeness has been lost, but he _misses_ it. He misses the feeling of connection. He misses being useful to him. He misses knowing that Shiro will be okay, because standing opposite him now, readying for a fight, he knows Shiro _isn’t_ okay.  
  
Keith understands, on some level. He can’t put himself in Shiro’s shoes. He can’t imagine what it’s like to die and be brought back; or to assimilate the memories of another _you_ living your life. Maybe Shiro has asked himself how it is that none of them noticed he was gone. Lance struggled with his guilt after seeing Shiro in Voltrons mindscape, but the rest of them shrugged and moved on. Shiro was gone and then he was back. Why dwell on the particulars?  
  
Keith has had to dwell on it. He and Shiro were getting closer after his last rescue—when he first found him, drifting in space, moments from death. That was the wake-up call Keith needed to know Shiro was important. Not just historically important but _right now_ important. Without him, the highs weren’t as bright or beautiful. Without him, there was less focus. Leading the black lion felt like a hollow victory. Shiro was vital to him. After that rescue—they gravitated towards each other. Nothing concrete ever happened, but there were enough moments that made Keith feel there was something there. Something more than mutual respect. He slept better when they were roughing it on some dusty ass planet, keeping each other warm. Didn’t that mean something? Shiro’s smiles were growing consistently warmer and softer. His touches began to linger. His  looks were sometimes full of wanting. Shiro would sometimes say things that transcended friendship---  
  
But maybe none of that was real. After all, it wasn’t Shiro at all. Shiro was dead. But the clone had his memories. The clone believed he _was_ Shiro. Didn’t that make his reactions authentic? Wouldn’t things have unfolded the same way if the real Shiro had been there? Keith was willing to die for him. He proved it. Didn’t that mean something?  
  
Maybe. Maybe not. Shiro possesses all those memories now, but since his resurrection, he's said nothing. They have kept a distance from one another. Shiro needed space to come to terms with his trauma and now, Earth is occupied territory. There just hasn’t been time.  
  
Shiro smiles in anticipation and Keith feels such a swell of mixed emotions. Most of all, he can see that Shiro needs this. He needs a _fight_. Whatever else is going on, or not going on--- this is something Keith can do for him as a friend. So, he fights.  
  
Keith empties his mind of extraneous thoughts. The people gathered around them disappear from his consciousness and he focusses on Shiro. He knows his strengths and weaknesses. He knows Shiro favours his left arm to counterbalance the new, larger prosthetic. The mix of Altean tech makes it both heavy and light, but it’s cumbersome either way. To maintain balance, Shiro has had to adjust and compensate. So, Keith knows which side of him is most vulnerable to attack.  
  
_Patience yields focus._  
  
Shiro moves first and their sticks connect, one bouncing off the other. Keith digs his heels into the mat and stays firm. He pushes Shiro back and their sticks connect a second time,  drawn together like magnetism. They have similar fighting styles. They know each other too well. They can anticipate each other’s moves and attempt the same workarounds. They both go on the offensive, hitting out in a quick succession of blows. Keith slashes across Shiro’s middle but he narrowly avoids it. He has been sparring for an hour, but he’s still fast. Keith focusses all his energy on finding the brief moments Shiro leaves himself open, but they are few and far between. They fight with real energy. The more they parry each other’s blows, pushing each other across the mat, the more pent up Keith gets. It is _frustrating_. They are getting nowhere. They are too evenly matched with sticks. If he doesn’t change the game, the winner will be whoever tires first and he doesn’t have the time.  
  
Keith throws his stick at Shiro’s head, who dodges it by millimetres. Keith takes advantage of his brief surprise and sinks forward on one knee, kicking out to sweep Shiro’s ankles. Shiro stumbles and hits the ground on his knees, recovering quickly. Standing again, they both circle each other. Shiro throws his stick to the side and grins.  
  
He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t have to. Keith can see the contentment on his face; his eagerness at a real fight. He wants to be challenged. He craves it. Keith is happy to oblige him. He suddenly wants to win this fight, not just to make Shiro feel stimulated, but to dominate him. He wants to know he can best him. He wants his years of training to culminate here.  
  
Shiro raises his hands and adopts something similar to a boxing stance, the fingers on his flesh and steel hands both curling into fists. Keith wonders how much a giant metal fist would hurt smashing into the side of his head and decides to avoid that altogether. As intimidating as it is, Shiro’s prosthetic hand is slower than his Galra arm. Only by a few milliseconds, but that makes all the difference. Keith is sure he can avoid getting hit, and part of him wants to believe Shiro would punch him with his flesh and bone fist like a gentleman.  
  
He doesn’t have to wait long to find out. They meet in the middle of the mat and Keith throws the first punch. Shiro ducks out of the way and throws his own, using his real hand for jabs and the metal arm for defence. Keith tries to use his size and speed to outmanoeuvre him and he can, almost. He throws a punch and it connects and the quiet sound that comes out of Shiro’s mouth as his head snaps to the side is vindicating and something else. It makes pleasure stir in Keith’s gut.  He wants to hear it again. It’s captivating. It makes Shiro feel so much more a flesh and blood person. He can be pushed and prodded. He can be ruffled. Shiro, who is always in control. Keith feels the power in being able to affect him. How many people can say the same?  
  
A smile tugs at his lips and Shiro sees it, returning it in kind. Keith throws another punch but Shiro blocks it and twists his forearm. Keith growls in pain and kicks out, freeing himself. Released, he rounds up on Shiro again, arms raised in defence, trying to decide his next move. His eyes sting. He is sweating. He’s _hot_. They have been sparring for only two or three minutes, but he is worked up. Adrenaline runs through him. For minutes more, he and Shiro throw punches—rarely connecting as intended. They both defend themselves. They test each other.  
  
Shiro changes the game when he takes things to the mat. He lunges forward so quickly, Keith is taken by surprise. Shiro throws a hard arm around his middle and throws him to the ground. The wind is taken out of him, but Keith rolls. He scrambles to his feet and retaliates immediately. _I can do that too_ , he thinks. He dashes forward and grabs Shiro’s left leg, hauling it off the ground and driving forward so Shiro stumbles back several feet and hits the ground on his back.  
  
From there, he and Shiro wrestle--- they grapple on the ground, sometimes getting to their feet only to be dragged back down. The longer their match goes on, the louder they become. Keith grunts with every burst of effort and Shiro does too. In the back of his mind, he is reminded of the cloning facility and the desperate blows they inflicted on each other but this is safe. _This is safe_ —and he is _enjoying_ it. It feels good to push himself; to not rely on his lion or a ship. It feels good to ache and hurt. It feels good to burn. While grappling, Shiro’s knee connects with his cheek and Keith relishes the brief moment of blinding pain.  
  
For now, there is nothing he can do outside this facility. He can’t go out there and blow Sendak out of the sky. He feels useless and impotent and he suddenly acknowledges weeks of pent up frustrations and how fucking good it feels to throw his fists. To _do something_. He channels those frustrations into this fight. He fights _harder_. Shiro’s defences become weaker and his grunts louder as he is forced to defend himself more wholly.  
  
Keith gets his hands on a stick and hits out hard, knocking Shiro onto his back. Shiro is surprised by it but recovers. He gets half to his feet, taking a defensive stance to block the next blow—them someone yells something in the crowd. It’s just someone calling to their friend, but the name comes through the air surprisingly crisp. So much so that Keith hears it over his own heavy breathing and the blood pounding in his ears.  
  
_‘Adam’._  
  
Shiro’s eyes dart away for the briefest second; the smallest moment of hesitation--- and Keith seizes it. He kicks out and knocks Shiro back to the ground, following him down. He straddles him and shoves the stick roughly under Shiro’s chin, pushing his head back roughly. There’s a brief moment where it feels as if Shiro will buck and throw him off, but he doesn’t. He slackens. Beneath him, Keith feels every muscle in Shiro’s body suddenly relax. From up close, he sees the brief look of relief and pleasure on Shiro’s face--- and it surprises him.  
  
Nobody else is close enough to see but Keith sees it. He sees the way Shiro unfurls and relaxes the moment he is bested. Tension ekes out of him. This is what he wanted all along. Shiro opens his eyes a crack and they look at one another. Shiro’s expression changes and it’s something so new, Keith is awed by it. It’s sensual and trusting and beautiful. He looks peaceful. Beneath him, Shiro is muscular and strong. He can feel Shiro’s heat. He can feel his pulse beneath his skin--- and Keith is intoxicated by it. Shiro _submits_ and Keith’s heart pounds in his chest. He wants to dominate him.  
  
His cock aches between his legs and feeling it, Keith quickly comes to his senses. He quickly pulls himself off Shiro’s prone body before any of the insanity in his head becomes obvious to anyone else. He stands and gives Shiro a hand up.  
  
Immediately, some of Shiro’s tenseness returns, but he has a lax smile on his face and pulls Keith’s wrist above their heads to announce him the victor. The crowd whoops and only then does Keith pay attention to their surroundings and the crowd, bigger than when they started. Shiro pats him on the back and speaks loudly to their audience, tugging at Keith’s arm.  
  
‘Your champion for the day’.  
  
Everyone whoops and claps and Keith flushes from the attention.  
  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
  
  
  
When Shiro finally leaves the training hall, Keith falls into step beside him.  
  
‘You let me win’.  
  
Shiro’s brow furrows and he looks down in passing confusion.  
  
‘What?’  
  
‘You lost focus’.  
  
_Adam._  
  
Realisation dawns and Shiro shrugs, continuing down the hall towards his quarters. His skin is flushed and sweaty. His shirt clings to him. Everyone they pass in the hall does a double-take and Keith understands completely.  
  
‘It happens,’ Shiro says.  
  
‘Not to you’.  
  
A wry smile appears and Shiro shrugs, his voice coming out changed.  
  
‘I’m only human, Keith’.  
  
It’s a simple sentiment but there are layers to it that Keith can’t read. He only knows instinctively that every one of them is mired in something sad or shitty. Shiro isn’t okay. For whatever reason, the lazy smiles and simplicity of conversation are a façade. The closer they get to his quarters, the more tense Shiro becomes—as if the fight was a release and his refractory period is almost up. That brief moment of peace Keith witnessed in him is almost gone. He stops in place, struck by the realization, but Shiro keeps going. Keith finds himself yelling after him unexpectedly. His words burst out of him.  
  
‘Are you okay?’  
  
Shiro stops and slowly turns around, surprised by his outburst. For a moment, his brow furrows like he might say something honest or tell the truth, but it passes. His expression softens and he smiles. Good ol Shiro.  
  
‘I’ll see you later, Keith’.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started watching VLD two weeks ago and hoo boy, did I SPIRAL. Shiro is the light of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
It has been two weeks since they sparred and he has barely seen Shiro since. For a while, he walked past the training halls at the usual hours and found them empty or occupied with various classes. From what he could tell, Shiro went from sparring two or three times a day, to not at all. His disappearance made small waves. Suddenly, the swarm of cadets who saw normalcy and comfort in Shiro’s routine began to panic. Their anxiety returned. If Shiro wasn’t sparring anymore, where was he? What was he doing instead? What was he preparing for?  
  
They weren’t wrong. Four days from now, the Garrison will stage a last offensive to beat back Sendak and take back the planet. With so little time to prepare, Shiro has been too busy to relieve his tension through sparring. He has been too busy to relieve his tension, period. Keith has had his own work to do. Endless work. They have _all_ been busy, but he has seen the others every day. Shiro? Not so much.  
  
Shiro spends most of his time liaising between Admiral Sanda and everyone else. Keith can’t help feeling miserable about that. While he and the paladins prepare for the particulars of their upcoming fight, Shiro and Holt have been assiduously working to ensure a thousand moving Garrison pieces will function together at the right time to support them. Shiro will be vital on the ground, coordinating their forces. Keith knows that, but he misses him anyway. He will miss him in the air. He will miss him in the fight. Shouldn’t he be up there too? Keith would feel better if he were in two places at once. But, he can’t be.  
  
So, he’ll lead Voltron the way he knows he can. The way Shiro believes he can, and they’ll _win_. Whatever the cost, they won’t lose this fight. They won’t let it happen.

  
  
  
* * *

 

 

Keith sees Shiro briefly at dinner. He has barely spoken to him outside of talking about the mission in a room full of commanders who can’t comprehend what’s coming. He is eating alone when he sees Shiro in the distance of the mess hall. Shiro grabs a bottle of water but no food and disappears again. Four days. That's all they have left.

Even from across a crowded room, Keith can see the tiredness and the strain. This will be the hardest mission of their lives. The stakes have never been greater--- but Keith knows it’s not just that. Shiro has been off since Allura revived him. He hasn’t had the time he needs to recover. Yes, they had a string of uneventful weeks traveling in the Lions together, but Keith understands that sitting in a cramped metal room, floating through the infinite void of space, isn’t a conducive place to recover from dying, or your consciousness _being trapped in an infinite void._  
  
He knows Shiro will be alright, but he needs to be on solid ground for a while. He needs to see the sun and breathe fresh air and recuperate without the threat of annihilation hanging over them. Shiro is strong. Keith knows it won’t take long for him to bounce back. A few weeks at most, and he’ll be back to normal. He will be himself again. They just haven’t had time. Maybe, when this is all over.  
  
For now,  Shiro needs sleep _._ It is the one thing he truly needs that will help him. Keith has heard about his current sleep schedule. Three hours a night is not sustainable. The way he looked in the mess, he won’t be on his feet in four days-time when he is needed. Shiro needs a few hours of legitimate rest, and Keith knows him well enough to know that won’t happen unless he’s forced.

  
  
  
*

 

 

  
The world lurches and spins and his arms shoot out to balance himself. Keith is surprised by the sudden change in location. He didn’t expect it. He groans quietly. Shiro is perched on the end of his bed, overwhelmingly calm considering the home invasion that just took place. Maybe he is too tired to be phased by it.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Keith blurts out. ‘He snuck up on me,’ he explains, gesturing at Kosmo by his side. ‘I was thinking about coming here, and then--- ‘  
  
‘He expedited the trip?’  
  
‘Yeah. Sorry’.  
  
Shiro smiles good-naturedly, but he looks tired. His hair is mussed and his sleep-shirt wrinkled, like he has already tried to sleep and given up. Frankly, he’s surprised Shiro is here at all. It’s not even midnight. On an ordinary night, he would be anywhere _but_ here. He has spent the last ten days working until everyone else began waking up.  
  
Shiro stands and stretches, rotating his right shoulder, or what’s left of it anyway. That thing he has on there now must be heavy. It must get uncomfortable. So far, he hasn’t complained. He is just grateful to have a working arm again.  
  
‘What’s that?’ he asks, gesturing to the bottle in Keith’s hand.  
  
‘Whiskey?’  
  
_‘Alright?’_  
  
Keith looks obstinate for a minute, like Shiro should know what’s going on here. He should know this is an intervention, but Kosmo blinks out of the room and Keith rolls his eyes at the sad meeting this suddenly makes.  
  
‘I thought we could have a drink,’ he says. ‘Or two, or three. You need sleep. This way is better than no way,’ he says, shaking the bottle.  
  
Shiro smiles and cranes his neck to read the label.  
  
‘That’s good stuff’.  
  
‘Thank-you. I stole it’.  
  
‘I’m not even going to ask’.  
  
Keith flops down on the bed. He watches Shiro rub his eyes ten times and look around aimlessly, as if searching for something he can’t remember. His tiredness is palpable. He has dark shadows below his eyes. Eventually, he turns back around.  
  
‘I can’t drink with you, Keith. I have too much to do in the morning’.  
  
‘That’s why I’m here,’ Keith answers. ‘You barely sleep. You come back to your quarters every morning at three, and you’re back out there by six’.  
  
‘Are you spying on me?’ Shiro smiles.  
  
‘Yes, because you’re worrying everyone. You need sleep. With the mission coming up, three hours isn’t good enough. It will slow your reflexes. You won’t think clearly. You’ll regret it’.  
  
Shiro scratches his brow, his face vacillating between annoyance and amusement.  
  
‘I appreciate you looking out, but I’m okay. I’m no tireder than anyone else. Besides, with Allura’s little magic crystal in my arm? I don’t need as much sleep as I used to’. He wriggles his metal fingers for show.  
  
‘Funny,’ Keith says, folding his arms. ‘Because Allura always slept at least six hours when she had that rock. Usually eight. Why would she need sleep, but not you?’  
  
Shiro frowns, caught up in the obvious lie. His shoulders slump.  
  
‘Keith. I have too much to do. Would I like to sleep? Obviously. Can I? No. I don’t have time. Even when I _try_ , I can’t sleep,’ he says. ‘I have too much to think about. I’ll sleep when it’s over’.  
  
‘You mean when we all die because of a mistake you make?’  
  
_‘Keith!’_  
  
‘Try harder. Take a sleeping pill or something. Have a drink,’ Keith says, shaking the bottle between them. ‘You have to do something. If you don’t, I’ll tell Iverson or Sanda that you’re not fit for duty’.  
  
‘No you won’t. Even impaired, I’m still your best support on the ground’.  
  
Keith smiles.  
  
‘You’re right. But you still need a good night’s sleep’.  
  
‘And you think whiskey will help? I’ll feel better when I wake up tomorrow with a pounding headache?’  
  
‘Take an aspirin. The headache will fade’.  
  
Shiro smiles but shakes his head, preparing another excuse. Keith anticipates him and lowers his voice.  
  
‘Shiro. Where are Iverson and Sanda _right now_? Where’s Holt?’  
  
‘Sleeping?’  
  
‘Right. _Everyone_ has work to do. Everyone else found time to rest. Why can’t you?’  
  
Shiro folds his arms across his chest in a familiar stance and he shrugs. His voice comes out so light and untroubled, it masks the discomforting truth of what he says.  
  
‘Well I don’t know, Keith. I did recently come back to life after being trapped in the infinity of Voltron’s quintessence for an immeasurable period of time, only to come here and find all my friends from the Garrison dead. Everyone I ever trained with. The man I thought I might marry someday. All of them. Dead. And how long did I have to come to terms with that? About ten seconds,’ Shiro says. ‘Then somebody needed me. That hasn’t changed since we got here. Somebody always needs me. Everyone on this base needs information. Everyone on this base needs help that only we can provide. For weeks, I’ve been doing twenty jobs at once to prepare the Garrison for what’s coming; finding workarounds to integrate Altean tech with our systems, trying to talk sense into Sanda, working with the MFE pilots to prepare them. You. Me? Holt? Voltron? We’re the only shot this planet has at survival, and in four days-time when the fight actually kicks off, I won’t be up there with you. I’ll be on the ground, telling people what they can do and then it’s all out of my hands’.  
  
Shiro finishes his breathless spiel with a shrug and a smile and that makes Keith ache, because he always does this. Only, he understands it this time. On some level, he knows Shiro is right about being needed every second of the day. If they weren’t days away from staging a last-ditch effort to save the entire planet, he would encourage Shiro to exorcise his demons and work out all of this pent-up stress, but there isn’t time.  
  
‘So, maybe I don't think it's a good use of my time,’ Shiro finishes, ‘to be sleeping more than I have to’.  
  
Keith grimaces. He hates it, but just this once, it is _better_ for Shiro to hold this stress in until the crisis is over. If he lets it out now, he won’t get the lid back on the bottle in time. Even so, Shiro desperately needs sleep. It is the only realistic help he can get between now and the mission. It will recharge him for a while longer. Keith holds the bottle of whisky between them.  
  
‘Have a drink, Shiro. I won’t leave until you do’.  
  
Shiro slumps but sinks down onto the bed beside him.  
  
‘Alright’.

  
  
*

  
  
  
An hour and _many_ drinks later, Keith’s head spins. He isn’t full blown drunk but he has a nice buzz and the room wobbles when he moves. He feels invincible. It’s the perfect level of drunkenness that makes you think you can say and do anything; and he’s been taking advantage of it. He has talked shit for thirty minutes and made Shiro laugh _at least_ six times. The last time he laughed, Shiro had tears in his eyes. It made Keith weak to see it. He determines that when this nightmare hanging in the sky above them is over, he will find things the gang can all do together. _Fun_ things. He wants everyone to smile again. He wants Shiro to be _with_ them again.  
  
For now, Keith is coming down from his buzz, slowly. He is a little tireder than before. He turns his head from their shared pillow on the bed. He watches the pale blue light of Shiro’s arm pulse in the darkness. He hasn't asked Shiro about his new arm. Does he turn it off when he goes to bed, or put it on the nightstand? Or is it always on? Is it always a part of him now? He doesn’t even know if Shiro can _feel_ things. He reaches over Shiro’s body and taps his metal arm.  
  
‘What does this feel like? Do you have sensations when you touch things?’  
  
‘I suppose so’.  
  
‘What if I touch you? Can you feel it?’  
  
He pulls Shiro’s arm closer and drags a light fingertip over one of the metal fingers. Shiro’s prosthetic hand twitches in response. It’s such a natural reaction, like there are nerves beneath the surface.  
  
‘I can feel it,’ he says.  
  
Keith repeats his touch with Shiro’s flesh and blood hand.  
  
‘Is it the same, or different?’  
  
‘Different. The right is like pins and needles.’  
  
‘And this part?’ Keith asks, dipping a finger into the empty space where Shiro’s elbow should be. He knows how the arm works, basically. He understands that an energy unfathomable to him holds the two segments together; that there’s some give but the further they get from one another, the less control Shiro has. He feels a slight magnetism against his skin. ‘Can you feel anything when I wiggle my fingers in here?’  
  
‘Sort of. I can’t explain it’.  
  
Keith holds his own arm aloft above them and rotates his elbow, winding his arm up. He can’t really feel his arm in the place Shiro is missing his. He can feel his shoulder and his wrist and hand. That’s all.  
  
‘I guess I can’t feel that spot either’.  
  
Shiro smiles.  
  
‘You’re drunk’.  
  
Keith brushes off the suggestion, picking Shiro’s metal hand up and holding it close to his face. He presses his ear against it, surprised by its warmth. It isn’t cold like he expected. It’s room temperature. He closes his eyes and focusses on the quiet. He tries to hear the mechanics underneath. Shiro moves a finger but Keith hears nothing. His old hand sometimes made a sound when his fingers flexed. A little robotic twang. Keith holds Shiro’s hand to his face. He presses the metal to his cheek and visualises his old arm. In his minds eye, he sees Shiro the way he was when he first escaped the Galra.  
  
The plating of the Galra tech was so advanced, Shiro’s arm looked and functioned like a human arm. It was real-adjacent. Keith doesn’t dislike the new arm but it is different. It’s a constant reminder. He severed Shiro’s arm. He dismembered him like the Galra did. And why? Because he didn’t know Shiro was gone when he first disappeared from the Black Lion. _Gone_ gone. He should have known somehow. When he picked up the clone, he should have seen a difference. Instead, he became attached to him. Attracted to him.  
  
Shiro’s metal thumb gently brushes his cheek and Keith’s eyes flutter open, catching a soft look on Shiro’s face. Caught in the act, Shiro withdraws his hand and faces the ceiling once again.  
  
‘You’re drunk too,’ Keith says.  
  
Shiro smiles in answer.  
  
‘This is our first time drinking together, alone,’ Keith says. ‘On Earth anyway. Before Kerberos, you would never drink with me’.  
  
‘You weren’t old enough’.  
  
‘It wasn’t just that. You didn’t want me cramping your style. I always thought you were a stickler for the rules. I thought you never relaxed at the Garrison. You were always so perfect and together. Then, one night, I was sneaking out of the base and I saw you’.  
  
‘Doing what?’  
  
‘Sneaking _onto_ the base after curfew. You were with Adam. You were both drunk. I’d never seen you like that before’.  
  
‘I did have fun _sometimes’.  
_  
‘Yeah, but it was the only time I’d ever seen you look normal. I don’t know how to describe it. You always seemed like a celebrity, you know? You were a _star_. It was like looking behind the curtain. I remember you were smiling. Your face was red. You were leaning on him. You tripped and you both burst out laughing. You had to lean against a wall to calm down. You were so loud, I don’t know how you didn’t get caught’.  
  
Keith had seen Shiro open and free before. He had _seen_ behind the curtain on all their rides out in the desert, but Shiro was always careful not to say the wrong thing. He wanted to be a good influence. He wanted to be a good mentor. That night with Adam was the first time Keith saw him without the burden of responsibility. He was just a young guy having fun. He seemed untouchable.  
  
‘What was Adam like?’ Keith asks suddenly, rolling onto his side to face him.  
  
‘You knew him’.  
  
‘I only met him a few times. I never really talked to him’.  
  
‘Adam was Adam. I don’t know what to tell you’.  
  
Keith doesn’t know what he wants Shiro to say. Maybe he wants to know the difference between them. Shiro loved Adam. What was that _like?_ Did it feel the way he felt free-falling with Shiro from the satellite? He couldn’t let go. Is that what love is like? When Shiro supported his decision to leave Voltron to work with the Blade of Marmora, was that out of love? Or was Adam’s ultimatum more like love? _Stay or we’re through._ If Shiro has loved before, how is that different to this?  
  
‘After the news broke that you were dead, I saw him,’ Keith confesses quietly. He watches Shiro’s eyelids flutter closed, like he needs protection from whatever comes next. How did Adam feel when the news first accused him of killing his team? Pilot error. Who could believe that?  
  
Pidge railed against the news in her own way. Keith never saw her break-ins or confrontations. He only heard about them after the fact, on late nights talking in the Castle of Lions. He did see Adam though. Just once. He was having a heated exchange with Iverson in a hallway a week after the news first broke. Keith couldn’t make out the words but he understood the sentiment. He understood his unkempt appearance. He understood how Adam _felt_ because he felt it himself. He felt Adam’s anger and his incomprehension. He was railing against it. _You’re lying._  
  
Keith felt solidarity when Adam pulled his arm back to take a swing, but Adam hesitated and let it drop. Iverson shut a door in his face and Keith watched the whole gamut of Adam’s painful shift in real time. The instantaneous switch from denial to acceptance. Keith identified the exact moment Adam gave up.  
  
He looked broken, but he accepted the news of Shiro’s death. Despite knowing Shiro for years and training with him side-by-side. Despite watching him break record after record, he accepted the news that the Kerberos mission had failed _because_ of Shiro. Maybe it vindicated him. Maybe it was easier to accept Shiro’s loss, because he had foreseen it and fought against Shiro going. Keith doesn’t tell Shiro that now. After all, they were together for a long time. Adam would have grieved in private. Keith knows that scene of _giving up_ in the hallway wasn’t the whole of it.  
  
‘He looked broken’.  
  
Shiro smiles faintly. It’s a weird reaction.  
  
‘He told me not to go,’ Shiro says. ‘But I did anyway, and then I died. And I didn’t just die, I killed my crew too’.  
  
‘But you didn’t’.  
  
‘But he thought I did. Until Holt anyway’.  
  
‘Everyone knew when Holt got back,’ Keith says gently. ‘Everyone knew what you did. Adam would have known too. He would have known you were a hero. That you didn’t die. That you were out there saving the universe’.  
  
Shiro doesn’t say anything. He keeps his glassy eyes fixed on the ceiling. Keith frowns. Every one of them have found family along the road. Since leaving Earth the first time, they have all been reunited or have a hope of being reunited with loved ones. Everyone but Shiro. If they had only returned to Earth faster, he could have seen him alive.  
  
‘I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him again. I’m sorry he never got to see who you’ve become’.  
  
Shiro turns his head.  
  
‘Who I’ve become?’  
  
‘You’re ten times the Shiro you were before,’ Keith answers quietly. ‘Before, you were a star. Now? You’re _Shiro the hero_ ,’ he says with a smile. ‘You’ve sacrificed more than any of us and you’re still here doing whatever you can to keep going. He should have had a chance to see that in person. I’m sorry he never got to. I’m sorry you never got to tell him he was wrong’.  
  
‘Wrong about what?’  
  
‘If you hadn’t gone on the Kerberos mission, none of us would be here. All the lives we’ve saved with Voltron? That’s all because of you. You were right to go. Even if you _had_ died on the mission, it was still worth it’.  
  
Shiro’s brow furrows.  
  
‘It was your dream,’ Keith explains. ‘How many people get to die in pursuit of their dream? You would know better than anyone. You’ve died now, haven’t you? Was it worth it? Would you do it all again?’  
  
He knows the answer. He would know it even without asking, but it still makes his heart pound to see the sad look of resignation on Shiro’s face, that he would freely lose it all again.  
  
‘Yes’.  
  
Keith smiles tenderly at Shiro’s watering eyes. He hates that Shiro never got the warm welcome he deserved on Earth. He didn’t get what Lance got. He didn’t get a hail of kisses and hugs from family. There was nobody here waiting for him who really cared. Shiro’s congratulations had to come from commanders he had respect for but no feelings. Worst of all, Shiro didn’t actually expect anyone. There was never a moment when he got out of his vehicle at the Garrison and looked around expectantly. Even if Adam was still alive, in his heart, Shiro didn’t expect him to be there when he arrived. Maybe, it made the news of his death easier to bear.  
  
‘I know I’m not Adam---’ Keith starts.  
  
Shiro laughs quietly and shakes his head in agreement and Keith feels a pang of hurt that maybe he’ll never measure up, but he says what he has to say anyway.  
  
‘--- But if I were him, I’d be proud of you. I know that doesn’t mean much, but it’s true. You’re _Shiro the Hero_ ,’ Keith says in a different tone. ‘People forget how hard it is. But _I_ know. You make it look easy so people stop saying thank-you. People stop being impressed. But you’ve changed my life, Shiro. I’m so grateful to you. If I wasn’t part of Voltron? If you left Earth without me, and I had been here when you returned with the others, I would have cried my fucking eyes out from pride. I just want you to know that. If Adam was alive, he would have done the same. I know it’.  
  
Shiro smiles gently but keeps his eyes on the ceiling. Keith watches a tear fall over his cheek. He presses his face into Shiro’s shoulder. How much is he struggling for a few nice words to make him cry? Stoic, strong, resilient. Shiro has always been stalwart. It makes Keith anxious to see the cracks. Maybe dying does that to a person. Maybe it’s just the loss.  
  
To lighten the mood, he smacks Shiro’s chest.  
  
‘And me too, right? You’re proud of me. I’m amazing. You love me? All that, huh?’  
  
Shiro laughs and pats his hand briefly before letting go.  
  
‘All of that. I wouldn’t be here without you’.  
  
Keith smiles when Shiro turns his head to look at him, because for a moment he is looking at him in this way he’s never looked at him before, and it feels like the only chance he’ll ever have to tell Shiro that he cares about him in this big undefinable way. Maybe he’ll never understand their relationship, but he _knows_ it transcends friendship. It transcends family. He would give his life for it, over and over again. He can’t explain what it means to _feel_ that way. It suffocates him.  
  
But he falters. He misses his chance. What can he say? Do you believe in soulmates, because I have this weird feeling when I look at you and even if it never goes further, I want to keep it until I die? Shiro is falling apart at the seams from prolonged stress. He is giving everything he has to make this last push successful, to make sure they defeat Sendak for good. He needs to have a clear mind. No distractions. Keith thought alcohol might help him. Just for one night, he thought Shiro letting go might be good for him but he has only pushed him in the wrong direction. He brought up his dead ex-boyfriend. What’s more annoying than that?  
  
Keith shimmies down the bed and pulls the blanket up around his chin. If he stops talking now, he can’t make things any worse. He knows he should go back to his quarters, but he doesn’t really want to. In four days, they will make their last stand. Maybe one or both of them will die. If that happens, he wants to know they spent a few hours together, breathing the same air.  
  
‘I’m tired,’ Keith murmurs. ‘I’m staying here. Is that okay?’  
  
‘Sure’.  
  
Shiro’s lips part to say something else, but nothing comes out and he sighs, like he missed an opportunity as well.  
  
‘Goodnight Keith’.  
  
‘Goodnight Shiro’.  
  
Keith rolls over so he is facing away from him and he stares at the wall for half an hour, running through everything he wishes he could say but can’t, because his feelings don’t come out in words. They’re an amorphous blur of history and sights, smells and senses. He desperately wants to hold Shiro in his arms. Why? Because maybe they’ll die--- but also because of the smell of dust as they rode together in the desert years ago. Because of the way Shiro took his hand when he was younger. Because the way Shiro smiles at him is different to the way he smiles at everyone else. Because of the way, even now, Keith feels Shiro’s hand on his shoulder. Maybe he loves Shiro. No, he _does_ love Shiro. But he can’t quantify it. It’s everything. Because of that, maybe he’ll never be able to say it.  
  
Eventually, he falls into a fitful sleep.

  
  
*

  
  
When he wakes, it’s still dark. He feels hot, like there’s a heavy blanket over him. It takes time to realise Shiro is pressed against his back. He feels the warm huffs of Shiro’s breath in the crown of his hair. The blanket and sheets are somewhere around his ankles and he doesn’t know which of them did it.  
  
For a while, he relishes the feel of Shiro’s body. He finds a way to enjoy the heat and the weighted comfort. It reminds him of travelling in the lions on their way to Earth. It reminds him of Shiro’s nightmares and the difference he made wrapping his arms around Shiro’s back. Except Shiro isn’t sleeping now. Keith realises belatedly, paying attention to his breathing. At times, it’s slow and measured like in sleep. At others, it speeds up and Shiro moves uncomfortably. Anxious. He is awake. He has been the whole time.  
  
When Keith rolls over, he is practically in Shiro’s arms. His eyes have adjusted to the dark, so he can see the fatigue on Shiro’s face. He looks spent and weary. Keith wonders how much time has passed since they said goodnight to one another.  
  
‘You haven’t slept?’  
  
‘No’.  
  
This answer isn’t a surprise to him. Didn’t he come to his room tonight _specifically_ to harangue Shiro about sleep?  
  
‘You _have_ to find a way to relax’.  
  
Shiro doesn’t answer.  
  
‘Maybe focus on your breathing? That’s what Hunk told me to do once, when I had insomnia on the castle. He said he could sleep sixteen hours at a time if he wanted to,’ Keith says, amazed. ‘I think that makes him an expert. He told me to focus on my breathing and everything else would fall into place’.  
  
He slides his hand over Shiro’s chest and holds it there. He feels it rise and fall beneath his fingers.  
  
‘So … focus on that, I guess’.  
  
He pats Shiro’s chest and feels something beneath his shirt. A ridge. Absent-mindedly, he feels along the scar beneath the fabric. He follows it with his fingers up to his collarbone and then back down to its start, half-way to the nipple on his right pec.  
  
‘You have a scar’.  
  
‘I have lots of scars,’ Shiro answers quietly.  
  
‘Right. I guess you must have’.  
  
He doesn’t know what possesses him but he moves his hand to the other pec, searching absently for more of them. He wants to catalogue every mark. He has scars of his own that pull and tug at him sometimes. That ache when it’s cold. That hurt sometimes even when they’re healed. He wants to know how Shiro got his.  
  
He moves his hand near Shiro’s bellybutton and finds another scar beside it. One that feels deep. Like a lucky escape. He wonders how Shiro got that one. They’ve all been hurt, but he doesn’t remember any serious wounds that would cause a scar like this one. But maybe this body was wounded before Keith picked it up in space. Shiro was gone for months. They had tortured him the first time. Maybe, the Galra tortured his clone as well. This body that believed with its whole heart it _was_ Shiro. Maybe he suffered for that. Maybe they cut him and broke him. He was certainly broken when Keith first found him.  
  
Suddenly, Keith wants to see the damage. He saw Shiro’s original body almost completely naked when he was recovering from Haggar’s wound in the healing pod. He had helped Coran undress him. This body, he doesn’t know. He wants to see the differences. He wants to know the changes Shiro has to live with.  
  
His hand dips low near Shiro’s hip, searching for any scars he can feel through the fabric. At this proximity, Shiro tenses. He freezes. For a moment Keith can’t understand why. He’s just checking for old injuries. He’s just curious. But then he understands the implications of what he’s doing. Side by side in the dark, he is exploring Shiro’s body and is only inches from his crotch. Where his hand is now, he could easily slide his fingers beneath the waistband of his sweats.  
  
Once he realises, he freezes too. He doesn’t immediately pull away because he’s surprised. A few drinks and he does _this?_ He doesn’t know what he’s doing--- and the more time passes, the more aware he is that Shiro hasn’t said anything. He hasn’t told him to stop. He hasn’t moved away uncomfortably. He just tensed. That could mean anything.  
  
Maybe Shiro knows what he’s doing and understands it. Maybe he’s tense because nobody has touched him in a long time. Maybe not pulling away means he is allowing Keith to finish his harmless exploration. Keith lets himself be bolstered by that. He moves his hand to Shiro’s far hip and finds a scar on that side, right on the bone. He begins to trace it but it disappears beneath the waistband of Shiro’s pants and he can’t go any further. He stops at the border where fabric meets skin and hesitates. He has nowhere to go from here. He withdraws his hand and feels more than hears Shiro’s shaky exhale.  
  
He should stop, but he wants to know him. He wants to know _this_ Shiro, in case he loses him days from now. He wants to remember every part of him. So he moves over the waistband and lays a hand on Shiro’s thigh instead. He runs his palm down the pocket and stops at a sizeable scar halfway to Shiro’s knee. If he lays his palm flat on top of it, it feels almost like a hand. He traces it carefully with his fingers and realises what it must be. It’s a burn. Shiro did this to himself.  
  
‘What happened here?’  
  
When Shiro answers, his voice is a little heady and shaky.  
  
‘I had an open wound. I had to close it. I used my hand. That’s all’.  
  
‘Ouch,’ Keith whispers.  
  
He wonders what it looks like. He wishes he could see it. He repeats the movements on Shiro’s other leg. He sweeps Shiro’s thigh down to his knee, feeling for any more scars. If there are any, they aren’t raised. He can’t feel any more. On his way back up, he absent-mindedly checks the _inside_ of Shiro’s knee and drags his hand up along the inner seam of his pants. He does it unthinkingly and Shiro inhales sharply. Keith realises he has stopped an inch from Shiro’s crotch.  
  
He means to pull away but the sound Shiro made surprises him. It isn’t disgust or anger or gnawing discomfort. It’s something else. He isn’t telling him to knock it off. He isn’t saying anything. So, what is he waiting for?  
  
Keith knows how easy it would be to touch Shiro. He realises how much he wants to. He can almost see the outline of Shiro’s cock through his sweats. He can see the shape of it, vaguely. He wants to touch him. He’s known for a while that his feelings for Shiro had morphed somewhere along the way and become physical too. That he had these big feelings he couldn’t explain, but here in the dark, with his hand on Shiro’s thigh, he really understands the desire.  
  
He doesn’t just want to be with Shiro all the time; to have long conversations, and fight beside him in the day; to laugh with him and go on adventures. He wants to _touch_ him. The way he felt went Shiro relaxed beneath him in the training hall was intoxicating. It felt so vital. He feels that again now. He wants to make _Shiro_ feel. He wants to make him relax the way he did when they sparred. He wants Shiro to feel that momentary release of letting go. He wants Shiro to be happy. Even if it’s just for five minutes.  
  
It's not like he hasn’t thought about it. It’s not like he hasn’t touched himself here and there, thinking about it. For months, he has let his mind wander into new territory. On those long weeks travelling in the lions, he would try to recall glimpses of Shiro and Adam together; things he had seen when he was younger. He tried to remember moments of intimacy. He didn’t know why. Maybe, it was wish fulfillment. Maybe he wanted to insert himself in the fantasy. Or maybe, he wanted to know what Shiro enjoyed in case he ever had the chance. He wanted to know him inside and out.  
  
Travelling with Krolia didn’t help him figure it all out. She saw things in the time drop-offs in the quantum abyss that he couldn’t explain. She saw bits and pieces of an incomplete relationship but maybe that’s what their relationship is. Incomplete. On the few instances Shiro travelled with them on the way to Earth, his mother would look at him with such tenderness and knowing. Maybe she had seen something in the future that he didn’t. He sometimes hoped so.  
  
Now, he is in Shiro’s bed, in the middle of the night, with his hand on his thigh and Shiro has made a sound that isn’t good _or_ bad and Keith doesn’t know what that means. He tells himself he’s going to pull away. He is going to withdraw his hand and they’ll forget this ever happened. But he doesn’t do that. He means to. He _starts_ to. He starts to pull away, but he thinks he’ll take the long way. He’ll go up the waistband and across Shiro’s waist to prolong this one last touch.  
  
He just--- misjudges.  
  
As his hand travels up Shiro’s thigh, he meets him by accident. He brushes his fingertips over Shiro’s clothed dick and Shiro makes that sound again. Keith feels Shiro’s entire body tense against him, but there’s something about _that sound_. It makes him flush. It excites him. He doesn’t know what it means. If he could just hear it one more time, maybe he would know for sure. So, for a second, he loses himself. He touches Shiro again, lightly. Barely even a touch. But Shiro makes that sound again and Keith recognises it for what it is. Anticipation. Desperation. Whatever the possibilities are for Shiro; for whatever reason he might want or allow this, he isn’t saying no for a reason.  
  
For a second, Keith forgets to breathe. This is an opening. This is a chance--- and maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe forcing him to talk about Adam has made Shiro desperate to relive some of their old intimacy, or maybe he’s so stressed and broken that he’s making a bad decision. Keith doesn’t want it to be the last one, but in some part of his mind, he thinks maybe Shiro just _needs_ this. Maybe Shiro needs to be touched. Maybe he needs this release? Maybe this is a way to help him? Maybe they’ll both die in four days-time and none of this will fucking matter.  
  
He makes a bold choice and flattens his palm over Shiro’s cock suddenly, pressing down. He rubs him through his pants and a barely audible shudder comes out of Shiro’s mouth. Keith _knows_ he wants this. Shiro wants this to happen, unequivocally. But, maybe he's not in his right mind so Keith needs him to say it. He can’t do this unless Shiro says it’s okay.  
  
‘Can I touch you like this?’  
  
He whispers it. He couldn’t raise his voice if he tried. He doesn’t look Shiro in the face, he keeps his eyes on his own hand, where it’s safe. Shiro doesn’t answer at first so Keith closes his hand around Shiro’s cock and squeezes.  
  
‘ _Is this okay?’  
_  
Shiro’s answer, when it eventually comes, is so quiet and unlike him, Keith wonders if he imagined it. He hears it like a whisper inside his head.  
  
_‘Yes’._  
  
He takes Shiro at his word. He shoves all the conflicting voices in his head deep down and empties his mind. He sheds everything that isn’t this moment. For a fleeting second, he thinks about Sendak somewhere far up above them and he knows in the face of what’s coming, this moment is small and inconsequential, but it feels like the other way around. It’s so _easy_ to push Sendak out of his mind. It’s so easy to block out the possibility that Earth will disappear, because he can hear Shiro’s quiet breathing hasten and he can feel the heat coming off his body and he has never felt so focused.  
  
He never had a lot of experience with men before leaving Earth, but he had _some_. When he was raging and angry with the world, it was easy to be with strangers when he needed a release. Women, men. It didn’t matter. When he needed something, he took it. So he knows how this goes. Only, he doesn’t want to be rough. He wants to figure Shiro out. He wants to anticipate his needs.  
  
He presses into Shiro’s side, and he rubs his cock through his pants. He keeps a nice pressure on it, feeling him out. He teases the outline through the fabric. He isn’t surprised by Shiro’s size. Even soft, he’s big. With his face so close to Shiro’s chest, he can _feel_ his responses. He can hear the barely audible changes in his breathing. He figures out that, through his clothes anyway, Shiro likes the pressure to be hard but slow in kneading motions. Keith does that for him. He touches him until he begins to harden beneath his palm. Until Shiro’s pants begin to strain.  
  
Like he did so many times in the lions on their journey here, Keith slips into an old fantasy. He imagines that he is somebody else. He imagines that he’s Adam; that the world isn’t ending and Kerberos never happened. When he touches Shiro, he pretends this is the night he caught them, stumbling into the Garrison drunk. That when they got back to their room, this is what they did together. Keith feels the warmth of Shiro’s cock through the fabric and he imagines he is Adam and that he's awed by this feeling, even the hundredth time.  
  
Soon, there is no way to keep going without getting Shiro’s pants out of the way, and he isn’t sure what Shiro wants. Does he want them down altogether or for him to stick his hand in there and figure it out? Keith takes a guess. He slips his fingers beneath the waistband of Shiro’s pants and pushes them down just enough to get access. He lays his face on Shiro’s pec so he can see what he’s doing without having to look at his face, because he’s scared that he’ll see something there that will change this. That will turn this into something else. It’s easier to focus on the physical. Shiro needs this. He needs this or it wouldn't be happening.  
  
But Shiro’s cock is beautiful. As far as cocks go anyway. Even in the dark, he can see how nice it is. He ghosts his fingers over it, not touching it, too awed for a moment that he is about to touch him for the first time. Then, Shiro twitches. His cock twitches and Keith is so overwhelmed by it, he wraps his fingers around him and sighs at the weight in his palm. Shiro’s cock is so heavy and warm and so _easy_. He has no lube so his first strokes are light, but Shiro doesn’t seem to mind. He makes a sound when first touched; this quiet sigh that sounds like letting go. Keith is taken by it.  
  
He apologises in a whisper and spits in his hand, wrapping his hand around Shiro again, stroking him firm and slow, squeezing his hand down the shaft in a steady rhythm. Shiro’s breathing changes. He slowly hardens in Keith’s hand and even in the dark with his impaired sight, he can see as much as feel the way Shiro comes alive in his fingers. It’s intoxicating. It makes his own cock twitch. He doesn’t want Shiro to see that. He doesn’t want to draw attention to it so he squeezes his thighs together and ignores it.  
  
He just quietly jerks Shiro off, every now and then trying something new to gauge his reaction. He palms the head and relishes the shaky breath that stutters out of Shiro’s throat. He wonders what Adam would do. How did he touch Shiro in the dark? They were together for a long time. How well did they know each other’s bodies? When Keith wraps his thumb and forefinger around the head and rubs Shiro’s cock in a new way, Shiro huffs out shallow little breaths and Keith imagines him saying Adam’s name. He closes his eyes and hears breathy pleading moans in his head. _Adam, please--- yes._  
  
Shiro’s hips rise to meet him, to feel _more_. But he never says anything. It doesn’t really matter. In his head, Shiro is with Adam and he is comfortable and open. He isn’t trying to restrain himself. In his head, Shiro’s thighs part further and Adam nestles between them. He thinks that’s what Shiro would want. Maybe, in Shiro’s head right now, he is imagining that other life too. He wants to tell him it’s okay--- _you can pretend I’m him. You can say his name._ But he doesn’t.  
  
Keith ups his pace but keeps his grip firm. He is careful not to chafe him, but it’s not difficult. It has only been a few minutes when he feels a sudden slickness, when he realises Shiro is leaking pre-cum. It makes it easier to touch him, and the sound of it adds a dimension so unreal that Keith has to squeeze his thighs together even tighter, because in the quiet of the room, all he can hear are Shiro’s punctuated breaths and the slick sound of his hand on him, and it’s so heady. It’s such a beautiful, strange, intoxicating thing to hear. It sounds forbidden. It turns him on.  
  
He wants to touch himself but he doesn’t know how Shiro would react. In his mind, this is just something Shiro _needs._ He needs to turn his brain off and feel something. He just needs a release. It wouldn’t matter who did it. It could be anyone he trusted. If Keith touches himself like he wants to, maybe it will shatter the spell. Maybe Shiro will wake up and realise what he’s doing and then he won't get the release that he so obviously needs.  
  
So, Keith resists. Instead, as he works Shiro’s cock, he closes his eyes and imagines it’s reciprocal. He imagines what it would be like to have Shiro’s mouth around him, to feel wet lips around the tip of his cock. In his head, he becomes Adam again. In that other life, Shiro sinks to his knees in the middle of the room and blows him in broad daylight. He is generous and unashamed. In this other life, Shiro’s warm, wet mouth swallows him down until he’s pleading for release. What would he say, if he were Adam? _Takashi---  
_  
Shiro groans quietly and Keith is so startled that he looks up. Shiro has purposely tamped down his reactions but now Keith _sees_ him for the first time and it’s so fucking beautiful. He rests his head on the edge of Shiro’s bicep and he tries to memorise this view. For the rest of his life he wants to see Shiro as he is right now in this moment. His eyes are clenched shut and his brow furrowed, but his lips are parted and lax and his face is flushed. With each stroke, Keith sees the way Shiro’s lips part and round. In a way, he looks the way he did when they sparred and Keith forced the stick beneath his chin. He doesn’t look relaxed, but _unburdened_. There is relief for him in this.  
  
Keith wants desperately to kiss him. He has now touched Shiro’s cock but never kissed him. Isn’t that a backwards way of doing things? Even if he knows this is just physical, that Shiro just needs someone to touch him, he wants to kiss him anyway. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to ruin this. He wants to finish him off. He wants to see the look on Shiro’s face when he cums. He wants to see that beautiful fleeting moment when he truly relaxes. He wants to know that for a few seconds at least, he truly helped him.  
  
So, he works him. He relishes the slick sound of it and enjoys the warm weight in his hand as he jerks him off, faster and firmer. He savours the way Shiro tenses. He feels it in his arms. He sees it in his neck and chest. Shiro’s strong thighs tense. His hips rise imperceptibly from the bed. Shiro makes sporadic grunts and moans a beat louder than his breathy reactions and Keith knows he’s getting closer. He is torn between wanting to get there faster so he can _feel_ it happen—and wanting to prolong it so he can stay here forever, watching Shiro come undone while he tries to fight it.  
  
He must make a sound because Shiro opens his eyes and looks down at him perched on his bicep. His eyes widen, like he has been somewhere else, or perhaps imagining someone else. Keith is afraid to look away or make a sound that will spook him. For some reason, he maintains eye contact. He stares back at Shiro in the darkness, eyes trained on the whites of his eyes, and he doesn’t stop. He jerks him off, and Shiro is so close, maybe he decides it's too late to stop now, because he doesn’t pull away. He just sighs quietly and rocks into Keith’s fist and this small participation, this extra sign that he wants and _needs_ this makes Keith _hurt_ inside. He doesn’t mean to say anything, but Shiro’s lips part and for a moment he looks so beautiful, it just slips out--  
  
_‘Shiro’._  
  
It comes out of him in a pleading whisper and Shiro looks at him in this funny way he can’t explain. Shiro’s arm, the one behind him, moves until his hand is on the back of Keith’s head. Keith feels Shiro’s fingers slide gently through his hair and though he doesn’t pull or push him, the simple contact feels so intimate and nice. It emboldens him.  
  
‘Are you close?’ Keith whispers.  
  
Shiro nods imperceptibly and Keith tightens his grip the last little bit he can. Shiro’s hip lifts a few inches before coming back down and his resolve begins to slip. The hand in Keith’s hair tightens. Not painfully—it’s just noticeable. Shiro’s eyes flutter closed. His breathing is ragged but _sensual_. Keith will never unhear the sound.  
  
_‘You’re so beautiful’._  
  
Keith doesn’t mean to say it, but he means it. When Shiro’s eyes open in answer and they look at one another, Keith takes this one last chance and presses his lips to Shiro’s. He kisses him. It’s just a brief, gentle connection, but he lets it linger for a moment and in that moment, he feels Shiro kiss him back in the same gentle, barely-there way. It’s almost nothing, but at the same time--  
  
Then Shiro groans suddenly, a choked-back sob that might be a _real_ sob--- an outpouring of pain that he is finally letting go of. Keith whispers into his neck, kissing his collarbone through his shirt.  
  
‘That’s it. Come on---’  
  
Before Shiro cums, Keith sees tears on his face. A few wet lines running down the length of his nose and they fill him with such sadness, he wants to hold Shiro against him forever and protect him. Instead, he whispers into Shiro’s skin.  
  
_‘Everything’s going to be okay’._  
  
Shiro cums, and it’s so quick and so gentle, it surprises him. Keith barely has a moments warning. He feels Shiro arch against him and cum in his hand, and the sound Shiro makes is so quiet and simple. It feels like a secret. A moment of intimacy, not a desperate hand-job in the dark before a big, unknowable mission.  
  
Still, Keith gets what he wants. He gets to feel Shiro tense against him, every part of him tight and firm, followed by a slow unfurling. He feels the few seconds of relaxation. He sees him momentarily unburdened. Shiro sighs and it’s full of contentment and gratitude and Keith wants to kiss him again and run his hand through his hair and wipe the wetness from his face. In his head, he is Adam watching the aftershock, still hopelessly in love with Shiro, even after years and years.  
  
_‘Keith’._  
  
With his hand still on Shiro’s cock, Keith _freezes._ In his head, he is still Adam, but that isn't the name that came out of Shiro's mouth. It's jarring. It forces him back into his own mind. _  
_  
He sits up because he doesn’t know what else to do. When he fucked strangers in the past, the second he came he was filled with remorse and he doesn’t want to give Shiro that chance. He doesn’t think he would, necessarily, but he doesn’t want to risk it. He doesn't want Shiro to feel awkward because of this, because he _needed_ something. Because he needed human contact. So, he lets Shiro go and slides down the bed, heading for the bathroom. Shiro calls his name in a kind of stupor--  
  
‘Keith, wa—’  
  
‘I’m just going to clean up,’ he answers. He says it with a smile, which is a weird choice he doesn’t mean. He only gives himself one second to look back at Shiro in the darkness, his muscles loose—his cock still hard against his stomach as he runs his fingers through his hair. It should shock Keith, now. It should break his brain to see Shiro this way for the first time-- after everything they've been to each other, Shiro has never been this. But it doesn't surprise him. It should, but it doesn't.  
  
Keith closes the bathroom door behind him and washes his hands. He can feel his face burning from arousal and embarrassment and he grimaces at his own erection. He wants release. He wants to dip back into his fantasy. He wants to be Adam again, with Shiro’s body pressed against him. Keith grips the basin of the sink and closes his eyes and he uses every fucking ounce of his willpower to _calm down._  
  
It takes a few minutes but when he comes out, Shiro is sitting up in the bed. He has cleaned himself up. They make awkward eye contact but Keith can’t miss, even in the dark, the way Shiro inspects his body. He seems surprised. He must have seen that he was hard before and thinks he finished himself off in the bathroom.  
  
‘I _didn’t--’_ Keith blurts out. ‘I mean--- I willed it away’.  
  
Shiro stammers his answer.  
  
‘Oh. I … Okay’.  
  
Keith wants to crawl back into bed and go to sleep, but he gestures for the door instead.  
  
‘I should head back to my room’.  
  
Shiro’s lips part to speak but he closes them again. It takes him an inordinately long time to say anything one way or another. So much so that Keith can’t guess at his sincerity when he does talk.  
  
‘Stay’.  
  
‘You want me to?’  
  
Again, it takes Shiro too long to answer, so Keith smiles and shrugs and he toes his shoes on by the door. It’s okay that Shiro doesn’t answer. He offered, didn’t he? That’s a good sign. Shiro offered because he’s a good guy. Because they’re friends. Four days from now, they will still communicate like a team. They won’t avoid each other. This was a favour, wasn’t it? Shiro needed something. He gave it to him. Now it’s over and that’s okay. This won’t have an impact on the mission. This won’t change any of the important moving pieces that depend on them working together as a team.  
  
Keith throws an arm out in a quick wave goodbye, and then he’s out the door. He makes it twenty metres down the long hallway before he is stopped abruptly.  
  
_‘Keith!’_  
  
He turns and shrinks, wildly checking the closed doors surrounding him. Doors leading to the quarters of a half dozen commanders and generals all trying to sleep. Shiro doesn’t need to be shouting his name down the hallway at whatever fucking time it is right now. Shiro, who is standing in the doorway to his own room looking confused, but also frank. Shiro shrugs and practically yells down the hall, asking more than telling, like he's uncertain.  
  
‘Yes?’  
  
Keith shrinks at Shiro's volume and presses his finger to his mouth to shush him, but Shiro just shrugs again and gestures back inside the bedroom, his tone more resolute this time.  
  
‘Yes’.  
  
_Stay._

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
He doesn’t know how he does it. Maybe it’s a by-product of years of successful repression. It is easy to push unwanted thoughts away when you need them gone. So, when he climbs back into Shiro’s bed, he does just that. He turns his back to him and says goodnight and somehow, he goes to sleep. Hand-job? What hand-job? Shiro needed a release and he gave it to him. It was nothing. He just pushes it away.  
  
When he wakes hours later, it is light out. He hears the faint sound of a bell he knows chimes at lunch, and he knows he has missed one meeting and is late for another. Shiro should have woken him when he left. Keith feels a brief pang of irritation. Then, he rolls over and finds Shiro hasn’t left him anywhere. Shiro is still beside him, fast asleep.  


* * *

 

 

For the few days between the hand-job and the mission, they don’t talk about the hand-job at all. In fact, they don’t have time to talk, period. He is busy preparing for his part in the upcoming offensive and Shiro is three times as busy. He has to mediate between Holt and Sanda. He has to bridge the gap. Frustrating bureaucratic stuff, instead of relying on instinct. Shiro spends every second of the last four days coming up with contingencies. If things go south, he will be ready. He has always _been_ ready. He has always been able to make split-second decisions but the stakes here are so much higher now.  
  
They have saved planets before, but this is _their_ planet. If they fail, it all goes away. They all die. Everyone they have ever known, dies. Keith knows the greatest part of the job falls to him and the others. Voltron is the first line of defence, but if anything goes wrong, it will be Shiro that helps move the pieces on the board to try again. Shiro will be able to see the big picture from the ground, more than any of them will in the sky. His part is vital. Keith will need him.  
  
The way it happens, Keith doesn’t get to say a word to Shiro until it’s too late to speak in person. Until he is in an MFE fighter on his way to rendezvous with the black lion. The last time they do talk, it is through a private connection in his earpiece, and all the things they could say to each other go unsaid. They just aren't necessary.  
  
‘Save the planet for me’.  
  
_‘We will’._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted this to be different to what it is and fake deep, but as soon as i posted the first chapter, i thought 'actually, vld is sad enough for me. I would just like to write happy things tbh' so that's what I'm going to do after I quickly finish this (with some keith love in the next chapter).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out [this](https://twitter.com/spiftynifty/status/1070898628447866880) gorgeous art @spiftynifty did based on the last chapter.

  
The first time he wakes, he hears Shiro’s voice. It pulls him from a dream. Tinny and far away, he hears him in the distance like a voice in the back of his head. When he opens his eyes, his head spins and aches. His mouth is dry and his throat raw. He is in pain and exhausted. His mother is sitting on the end of his bed and Kolivan is by the window. At first, it seems like a dream. Seeing them disorients him. It takes time to understand what’s happened.  
  
In pieces it comes back to him. Sendak. The Galra occupation. The fight with _whatever that was_. That monster that sucked the quintessence out of them. In the middle of his mothers’ explanation, he sees Shiro on the screen behind her and she quietens to let him listen. Shiro gives a speech in front of thousands and Keith feels the enormity of what has happened through the emotion in his voice. He alludes to things Keith only remembers in fragments. Shiro talks about loss and hope and Keith feels it in his gut. When Shiro’s brow furrows on screen, Keith sees him lying in the dust beneath Sendak’s heavy hand.

  
  
  
*

  
  
  
When he wakes a second time, his mother and Kolivan are gone. Their visit was short. They caught him up on the events of the past week, but in thirty minutes, his reserve of energy had disappeared. He found his eyes closing against his will and his mother spoke into his ear. _We’ll come back later. Sleep_. He has been unconscious for a week. Now, he has woken to an Earth harbouring the coalition, with a teludav hanging in the sky above. Things have moved quickly in his absence.  
  
To the left of him now, Shiro is asleep in a chair. His legs are crossed, his body leaning uncomfortably to one side. His uniform is unbuttoned to the middle. There is a data pad hanging loosely from his fingers. Keith takes a minute to unfurl the ball of stress in the back of his head that constantly worries about Shiro’s safety. It is a relief to find him alive and well. Keith takes stock of him. He looks for lasting damage but finds none. Just a bruise or two around his hairline and one showing above his collar.  
  
Shiro looks exhausted still, but only in a way Keith would recognise. Shiro is too good at his façade for other people to question him. He has always been a palimpsest. Shiro’s bright exterior writes false narratives over the darker ones that lay beneath.  
  
For a while, Keith watches him sleep. He is so grateful that Shiro is alive and well, he doesn’t want to look away. He thinks about the others too, all of them still trapped in the infirmary according to his mother, but less injured than he is himself. He thinks about them all in turn. If any one of them had died----  
  
His head aches. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. Not yet. Bits and pieces from the last few weeks appear and disappear in his mind. There are holes in the timeline, but he trusts they’ll come back with time. He has been unconscious for days and it _feels_ like it. He feels his own weakness. When he moves his eyes too fast, the room spins. He feels sick to his stomach. He is hungry and nauseous and frustrated by his infirmity. So used to the healing pods on the castle— being forced to recover from something traumatic the old-fashioned way is distressing. He mitigates his discomfort by drifting in and out of sleep.  
  
When Shiro wakes two hours later, Keith is awake and watching him. By now, he has remembered the night they spent together. Still, he smiles when Shiro makes eye contact and the expression he gets in return when Shiro recognises him is so warm, Keith’s stomach aches.  
  
‘You’re awake,’ Shiro smiles, dragging his chair closer to the bed. He looks relieved and earnest and Keith can’t help but love him.  
  
‘So are you. You’ve been asleep for a few hours’.  
  
Shiro looks embarrassed to hear that, checking the time on his pad, but he shrugs it off. He sits down and unbuttons his uniform jacket the rest of the way. This is Shiro off-duty. Keith notices the different epaulette on his shoulder.  
  
‘I did say I would sleep when it was over,’ Shiro reminds him. _  
_  
‘You did. I heard we saved the day’.  
  
‘You did good,’ Shiro smiles broadly, adding as an afterthought, _‘all_ of you’.  
  
For a moment, they just look at each other and Keith knows exactly what Shiro is thinking because they are on the same page. They are taking stock, grateful to see each other alive. No matter what happened between them, his feelings for Shiro haven’t changed. Maybe, the closeness of this last fight strengthened them. He has never been so close to death. He felt it come for him. He feels residual fear even now. His emotions are heightened. He feels himself standing on a precipice he can’t see.  
  
‘I heard what you did on Sendak’s ship,’ Keith says. For now, it is easier to think about Shiro. His throat hurts but he tries to mask it. ‘You fought him hand-to-hand while the ship went down. I saw you down there, but I didn’t know how you got there. That was stupid’.  
  
Shiro nods in agreement but ultimately waves it off.  
  
‘Maybe. But we’re all okay’.  
  
Because I killed him, Keith thinks. I killed Sendak.  
  
Shiro’s smile falters for a moment and Keith sees regret in his face. He understands without Shiro saying a word. They _are_ okay, but Sendak is dead and Shiro wasn’t the one to kill him. Shiro has always been relentless. Fighting with his bare hands on a ship falling to Earth signified something else. It was an unnecessary risk. That was something emotional. He had a desperate need maybe, to end things and to mitigate his suffering. Maybe he needed revenge. Killing Sendak might have brought him closure.  
  
‘I’m sorry I killed him,’ Keith says. ‘You should have been the one to do it’.  
  
Shiro is surprised by this apology and he hesitates before answering.  
  
‘You’re right. I wanted it. It should have been me’.  
  
Keith’s eyes flutter closed. Maybe Shiro will resent him for it. Shiro has spent years encouraging him to think first and act second, but he didn’t hesitate when he saw Shiro lying in the dust. If he had, he might have made a different call. He should have waited and given him a chance. But how can you stand by and watch someone you love come under a knife edge? _I don’t know how to do that.  
  
_ ‘But it wasn’t me, and that’s okay,’ Shiro says earnestly. ‘I was struggling. He could have killed me. You saved my life, Keith. I’m grateful.’  
  
Shiro is being sincere. He has regrets but they aren’t consuming. He has already locked this missed opportunity away with the rest of his compounding loss. Like everything, he focuses on the good. Keith wants to know where the rest of it goes. What does Shiro do with all the bad? He wants directions. He wants to push his own feelings away. This unsettling shock and malaise.    
  
‘How are you doing?’ Shiro asks intuitively.  
  
‘My head hurts,’ Keith answers, ‘and my stomach aches’.  
  
Shiro smiles in sympathy but shakes his head.  
  
‘That’s not what I meant’.  
  
Keith grimaces. He doesn’t know how to answer the question. There is some _feeling_ in the pit of his gut, as cold as ice. He feels it leaching out, poisoning him. It makes him want to run. He is safe here. The fight is over and the people he loves are close by. And yet, tension wracks his body.    
  
‘I don’t want to talk about it’.  
  
Shiro frowns but his face is full of knowing sympathy.  
  
‘That’s okay. Just know, I’m here when you do’.  
  
Keith nods and looks away. He swallows the lump in his throat. Even if he could put words to what he feels, he doesn’t want Shiro to know his weaknesses. He is the leader of Voltron now. He did his job. It’s over. That should be the end of it. That _has_ to be the end of it. Mission accomplished.  
  
‘I was here earlier,’ Shiro says, mercifully changing the subject. ‘But you hadn’t woken up yet. I had to give a speech’.  
  
‘I saw some of it’.  
  
Shiro flushes.  
  
‘You were a real leader out there,’ Keith tells him. ‘You had the whole planet in the palm of your hand. It suited you’.  
  
‘I don’t know if I want to be that kind of leader,’ Shiro answers conversationally. ‘I just want to be a captain, I think’.  
  
‘Of the Atlas?’  
  
‘It’s hard being out of the fight,’ Shiro says. ‘Watching you all from the ground? I couldn’t do anything. It was harder than I thought’.  
  
‘That’s the paladin in you,’ Keith smiles.  
  
Shiro looks away, but only for a moment.  
  
‘Well, I’m not a paladin of Voltron anymore. Captain of the Atlas is the next best thing. Someone has to fly her’.  
  
Keith maintains his smile but there’s a lot going unsaid. Maybe he hasn’t thought well enough about what it means for Shiro not to be a paladin anymore. Isn’t this one more thing Shiro has lost along the way? Every important and meaningful thing in his life has gone away.  
  
_I won’t go anywhere._  
  
He tries to buoy him up. His headache grows worse but he hides it well.  
  
‘I felt a rush when I saw the Atlas in the air,’ he says. ‘I knew you were flying her. I didn’t expect the big reveal though.’ Keith pantomimes a monster looming over its prey, his arms held wide. ‘The Atlas _transformed_. You can single-handedly protect the universe with that thing’.  
  
‘No,’ Shiro smiles. ‘She needs a crew. And, I don’t know about the _universe,’_ he says. ‘Maybe she’s meant to protect Earth. Isn’t that how the mythology goes? Atlas carries the weight of the world’.  
  
‘Well, I don’t like that’.  
  
‘No?’  
  
‘No. Because Voltron belongs out there,’ Keith says, gesturing up at the sky. ‘And you belong with Voltron. Not tethered to Earth. Besides, Atlas held up the heavens. He didn’t hold the world’.  
  
Though Shiro’s conversation is light, Keith sees the possibilities stretch out in front of him. What happens now that Earth is a coalition base? Where does Voltron go? The Atlas has bays for all five lions, but they came to Earth to build a new castle to serve that same purpose. If the Atlas leaves the solar system, Earth’s defences will be diminished. Maybe Shiro is right. Maybe the Atlas is better served here.  
  
‘It’s not ignoble to protect our planet,’ Shiro says.  
  
‘You spent your whole life trying to get _off_ this planet,’ Keith answers quickly. His words are tinged with panic, already thinking about the worst-case scenario. ‘And not like most people either, because you were running away from something. The universe called out to you, Shiro. It wants you up there. You belong out there more than anyone’.  
  
Shiro frowns and averts his eyes. He suddenly seems much tireder than before.  
  
‘When we get back out there,’ Keith says concretely, ‘you’re coming with us’.  
  
‘To do what?’ Shiro asks gently. ‘I’m not a paladin anymore. What can I do out there, that I can’t do better here? Is there anyone on this planet more qualified than I am to command the Atlas?’  
  
Keith grimaces. Is Shiro really considering it? He would stay behind, after everything he’s been through, and all the ways he fought to be out in space, doing what’s right--- how can he let it all go? Because he isn’t a Paladin anymore? _Fucking take it back then,_ Keith thinks. _I never wanted to pilot Black. Take her._  
  
He doesn’t say so out of fear of disappointing him. Shiro wanted him to be a leader and now he is one. He deserves better than Keith throwing it back in his face. He hasn’t told Shiro that being a leader of Voltron is different to _being a leader_. He felt something with the Blade of Marmora that was natural and right. He felt the lure of command. He felt his methods best put to use. He felt it with Red too. He felt her constant pull of independence. Her wildness. Red needed to be tamed. He understood her. Piloting Black is different. When he pilots Black, he does it for Shiro. He does it for the others. He does it because he is supposed to. If Shiro leaves, his connection with Black will weaken.  
  
More than that, he will miss Shiro. He has lost him too many times to endure another loss. The next time will be the last. Keith’s throat burns from suppressed hurt and he closes his eyes.  
  
‘I don’t want to talk about this anymore’.  
  
With his eyes closed, Keith tries to reign in his emotions. He is exhausted and pained, it is hard to stay calm. He feels himself dangling on a knife-edge between staying cool and letting panic overwhelm him. It embarrasses him, but he is physically and mentally broken. One more thing might break him. His defences are down.  
  
Shiro respects his wishes and says nothing, but that pulls Keith further into his panicked state. What does the universe look like without Shiro? He thinks about Kerberos and Shiro’s wilfulness. Adam would have pleaded and begged him to stay. He wasn’t enough. Maybe this will be the same. When Keith heads back out into the unknown, Shiro will stay behind no matter how much he begs him not to. And what for? Misplaced loyalty to Earth? His sense of responsibility?  
  
Keith slaps his hands down on the mattress either side of him and opens his eyes in an uncontrolled swell of emotion. It takes him by surprise. It tears out of him.  
  
‘Why did you fight Adam to go to Kerberos, if you’re going to give it all up? He’s dead, Shiro. Staying here like he wanted won’t bring him back or undo anything that’s happened to you. There’s nothing _here_ for you’.  
_  
_ Keith regrets it the second it comes out of his mouth. Once he’s said it, it sounds insane. He doesn’t know why he thought it, let alone said it. Shiro looks genuinely shocked and hurt for a moment, but he regains his composure. It takes him time to answer. When he does, his voice is quiet and careful.  
  
‘I haven’t made any choices, Keith. I was just telling you how I felt. It’s been a long day’.  
  
Keith frowns, cowed. He heard the important parts of Shiro’s speech to the Garrison. He spoke about the world being broken—but the flicker of hope remaining. He painted a bold picture of Earth’s future and the future of the coalition. If Shiro decided to stay on Earth, he would have a self-sacrificing reason. It wouldn’t be out of misplayed loyalty or guilt. He has already said he would do it all again. He doesn’t regret the choices he has made so far.  
  
‘I would appreciate it though, if you could stop bringing Adam into our conversations,’ Shiro says. ‘You’ve been doing it for weeks. I really wish you would stop’.  
  
Keith frowns. He is ashamed of himself, and grateful for Shiro not punching him or walking out of the room. He just told him Earth had nothing _for_ him. What a horrible thing to say. He only meant that out there, with Voltron and the castle, Shiro had something big and bright and real. He thought they had something meaningful. Here on Earth, Shiro can only fall back into something old. Into Takashi. And who _is_ that anymore?  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Keith whispers. ‘About what I just said. And the Adam stuff too’.  
  
Shiro’s brow furrows and he leans forward in his chair. Every time Keith says Adam’s name, Shiro withdraws into some unknown place Keith has never been allowed to go.  
  
‘Why do it?’ Shiro asks earnestly.  
  
‘I don’t know,’ Keith answers. ‘You haven’t had a chance to mourn him. I was giving you the opportunity. I thought you might want to talk about him’.  
  
It’s a boldfaced lie for the most part. He wants Shiro to unburden himself, but that was never a conscious thought in his head when he brought Adam into their conversations. Usually, it stemmed from confusion or misplaced jealousy. He has feelings for Shiro and his only yardstick for measuring their relationship is Shiro’s _last_ relationship.  
  
‘I _have_ mourned him,’ Shiro answers. ‘I mourned him before I was ever taken by the Galra,’ he says unexpectedly. ‘Do I want to talk about his death? No. I don’t. I thought I’d bolstered myself against this kind of pain, but seeing his name on the memorial wall?’ Shiro’s voice cracks and he lowers his gaze. He can’t finish his sentence so it goes unsaid. ‘I mourned him as my partner on the trip to Kerberos. I mourned him when I was locked in a Galra cell, searching for the will to keep fighting. I mourned him when I was a prisoner of the Garrison and he didn’t come for me,’ Shiro says. ‘Adam my partner? I’ve mourned him. Now, I’m mourning him as my friend, and I don’t need your help with that’. He doesn’t say it unkindly. He just needs to know why Keith keeps prodding open a tender wound. ‘So tell me why you keep bringing him up, because I know that isn’t the reason’.  
  
Keith exhales sharply through his nose. He feels guilty. He and Shiro have barely talked since they made it back to Earth. Busy in different ways, they kept passing each other by. He didn’t realise the extent of his invasive questions when they did talk. He thought most of his questions about Adam had gone unsaid.  
  
On the castle, how many times did he bring up Adam overall? Once? Twice? How many times has he mentioned him since they’ve been back? Too many, obviously. It has been hard not to. Up there in space, on the castle, he and Shiro felt like something. Something that didn’t allow room for anything else, so Keith didn’t think about it. When they approached Earth in their lions and everyone began talking about their families, he thought about Shiro and _his_ family and Adam crept into the back of his mind. Because if he thought his vague and undefined relationship with Shiro was _something_ , what was Shiro’s relationship with Adam? Wasn’t that something more concrete?  
  
‘You’re right,’ Keith says. ‘That wasn’t the reason’.  
  
His stomach aches, but he feels a certain calm too. If Shiro asks him outright, maybe he’ll tell the truth. Days ago, he came closer to death than ever before. He has been unconscious for most of that time. Maybe none of this really matters. Tell the truth. Don’t. What difference does it make? Won’t Shiro leave him regardless if he chooses to stay on Earth?  
  
‘Why then?’ Shiro asks. ‘Tell me’.  
  
Keith shrugs against the pillows propping him up. His head spins so he takes a moment to collect himself. What should he say? _Because I love you, and it’s complicated.  
_  
‘Because I have feelings I don’t understand,’ Keith says. He laughs and it makes his head ache. He feels a sudden swell of sadness. There is no turning back no matter what he says next. His relationship with Shiro will never be the same. Because of this, he decides to tell the truth. The urge to run amplifies. The coldness travels towards his fingers.  
  
‘I don’t know when I started feeling what I feel, but it’s been a while,’ he says quietly. ‘At first, I didn’t know what it was or how to explain it, but when I thought about you and Adam, it felt familiar to me. I sometimes felt like I was looking at you through his eyes’.  
  
Shiro’s lips part in abject surprise. He says nothing so Keith continues. Once he’s begun, it’s devastatingly easy to tell the truth. In the back of his mind, he wonders if the bandage around his head signifies something. Maybe it’s evidence of brain damage.  
  
‘Whenever I felt something for you that seemed too big and scary, in my head I would pretend to be Adam so it made sense,’ Keith confesses. ‘Adam loved you, so maybe I did too. I thought if I compared us, it would help make sense of how I felt’.  
  
He smiles at Shiro, as if to say— _isn’t that sad? Look what I’ve been reduced to._ He says so little, but it is written between the lines. Shiro isn’t dumb.  
  
‘Did it help?’  
  
‘Not really,’ Keith answers. ‘I wanted to know more about your relationship with him, but you never answered when I asked, understandably’.  
  
Shiro has this funny look on his face. It isn’t embarrassment, so Keith takes comfort in that. Maybe it’s sympathy or he’s dazed. Shiro takes a few measured breaths. He is lost in thought. He wrestles with something before speaking.  
  
‘Would it help,’ he asks tentatively, ‘if I told you about Adam?’  
  
Keith smiles, like it’s just a fantasy.  
  
‘I don’t know?’  
  
Shiro leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. Maybe, it’s to protect himself. It’s a comfort to him. He often does it in moments of uncertainty. Regardless, he makes a choice.  
  
‘What do you want to know?’  
  
Keith’s eyes widen. What’s his motivation?  
  
‘I can ask you things?’  
  
‘Anything,’ Shiro nods. ‘Please’.  
  
Keith sinks a little further under the blankets and rolls onto his side. It’s an unconscious gesture. He doesn’t realise he’s doing it until it’s too late. The movement makes him nauseous but he swallows the bile rising in his throat. Fatigue is starting to pluck at him again. He has to lie down. After what he’s just said, maybe this is the last time he and Shiro will have an earnest conversation. Maybe these are the last real things they’ll say to each other.  
  
Selfishly, he wants Shiro to talk about Adam. It’s wrong to ask it of him, but he wants it anyway. He wants Shiro to be open with him. He doesn’t want there to be parts of Shiro he can’t reach, even if he’s entitled to his private spaces.  
  
‘How did you first get together?’ Keith asks. ‘When did you realise you liked him?’  
  
Shiro smiles softly, even if his recollections pain him.     
  
‘The first time I saw him,’ Shiro answers, maintaining his smile regardless. ‘I was nineteen when he joined the Garrison. He walked into one of my classes and sat down in front of me. I liked him from the beginning. He was handsome,’ he says. ‘He didn’t like me that much. We had a rivalry for a while. I played along. I wanted to impress him’.  
  
‘Did you?’  
  
‘We were competitive,’ Shiro nods. ‘He was hungry to be the best. He was very passionate about what he did. He could be harsh sometimes. But I always enjoyed the time we spent together. I thought he was smart and talented and I liked his dry sense of humour. I wanted him to do well, even if he bested me’.  
  
‘So, what happened?’  
  
‘I used to write simulations for younger cadets,’ Shiro says wistfully. ‘I liked working on the different ways problems could be solved. I had written one program that I especially liked. It was difficult. Nobody had ever reached the end. But Adam did. One morning, he handed the prototype back to me and said he beat it. Then, he gave me a list of ways it could be improved. He graded me’.  
  
‘Geez’.  
  
It’s hard to reconcile that Adam with the one Keith occasionally saw in the gym with Shiro, shouting encouragements from the sidelines. By then, Adam was hopelessly in love and devoted to him.    
  
‘And I laughed,’ Shiro smiles. ‘And he didn’t know _why_ I was laughing. I didn’t really know either. He was different. I was charmed by him. I think he did that to upset me,’ Shiro says knowingly. ‘He wanted to challenge me. Instead, I told him I liked him. I asked him to get a drink with me’.    
  
‘What did he say?’  
  
‘He said yes,’ Shiro answers, enjoying the memory. ‘It was hard for him to let people in. He thought my kindness was insincere. After that, he realised I did like him. I wasn’t plotting his demise. He was lonely and needed someone to support him and I wanted to be that person. I think he felt my sincerity that day and took a chance. So, we went out to a bar and we had a good night. One thing led to another’.  
  
Keith reads between the lines. They went to a bar, got drunk and fucked on the first date.  
  
‘We clicked after that. We became close and were never apart again. Everything after that, we did together’.  
  
‘You never clashed over who was better?’  
  
‘No. At first, we were too in love with each other. He supported me like I did him. When I started to outpace him, he was proud of me. Over time, we wanted different things in our careers so it never became a problem. Adam wanted to fly jets. He wanted to teach. I wanted to be up in space. It worked out for us.’  
  
‘When did you realise you loved him?’ Keith asks. ‘Not just liked, but _loved_?’  
  
This is the question he most wants the answer to. Is there a moment people have when they know? One key moment of clarity that puts everything right? Or is the beginning always clouded and unknowable?  
  
‘I didn’t,’ Shiro says. ‘I felt how I felt and I never really thought about it. One day he said he loved me and I said it back without having to think about it. It just was’.  
  
Keith feels his stomach drop. Isn’t that familiar?  
  
‘Did you want to marry him?’  
  
‘I think so,’ Shiro says tentatively. ‘But I never really thought about the future the way Adam did. He used to talk about life after the garrison and slowing down. He was worried about my disease. He was hellbent on taking care of me. He was selfless,’ Shiro says, ‘and I was grateful, but I didn’t want to be an invalid. I didn’t want him thinking he had to nurse me. Because of that, maybe deep down I didn’t really think we’d get married. It was nice to think about though. We did talk about it’.  
  
Keith frowns under the weight of all that intimacy and history.  
  
‘And if you were still stick? You don’t want to be looked after?’  
  
‘Of course I do,’ Shiro answers honestly. ‘But Adam became hyper-focussed on my illness. He spent so much time preparing for the end, he didn’t enjoy the present the way I needed him to’.  
  
‘That’s why he didn’t want you going to Kerberos’.  
  
‘He thought something would happen to me. He was so worried about that, he couldn’t see how much I _needed_ to go,’ Shiro says emphatically. ‘I’m not ashamed to ask for help, Keith. I’m not that sort of person. But I need whoever is in my life to focus on what I can do, not what I can’t. I need the person I love to celebrate my life and enjoy it with me, not limit me out of fear. Adam loved me, but he was afraid. In the end, we had different plans for our lives’.  
  
Keith’s lips part at this brutal honesty.  
  
Adam should have said goodbye on that tarmac with a hopeful smile and enthusiasm. Instead, he sent Shiro away with a goodbye hug that was permanent. Keith saw it because he was there. When it was his turn, Shiro turned to him and said _‘Keith. Wish me luck!_ ’ Keith brushed him off. _‘You don’t need it. Go be awesome’_. Shiro looked at him with such a grateful smile, Keith would never say no to him again.  
  
Shiro never said no to him either. Not when it counted. When he left Voltron to work with the Blade of Marmora, Shiro supported his decision. He had every reason to be disappointed or angry, but he never showed it. He saw instinctively how necessary it was for him to leave, and he sent him away with love. Keith _felt_ it. He didn’t know you could leave somebody and still feel warm and appreciated. Because Shiro did that for him, he never felt his absence. He did his work with the Blades and he was content and happy.  
  
It suddenly seems insane to have spent so much time thinking about Adam, comparing a dead relationship to one still living. Adam disappeared from Shiro’s life because he chose that. He couldn’t live on Shiro’s terms, _but I can_ —Keith thinks. _Which means Shiro could live on mine.  
  
_

‘I don’t have anymore questions,’ Keith says. ‘Thank-you’.  
  
Shiro smiles, uncertain.  
  
‘Did that help?’  
  
‘Yes’.  
  
Shiro sighs, and it looks almost like relief.  
  
‘Keith,’ he says suddenly. ‘On that installation, you said you loved me. You called me your brother. Is that how you see me?’  
  
Keith is surprised by this sudden question but he tells the truth.  
  
‘No. You’re not my brother’.  
  
‘Then what am I to you?’  
  
Keith’s lips part but before he can say a word or arrange his thoughts, the door swings open and a nurse enters. He barely sees her. He sees a flash of uniform brush past him and hears a series of beeps when she checks the machine next to his bed--- but his eyes stay locked on Shiro. Shiro, who is wide-eyed and waiting for an answer.  
  
Keith feels himself crumpling under the weight of a thousand possible answers to this question. What is Shiro to him? What is air to him? How can he quantify it? How can he minimise what this relationship means to him by caging it in a single answer to a question? He would follow Shiro anywhere. He would follow him to the farthest reaches of the universe. He would follow him into death. He would do it without hesitation and he doesn’t know why.  
  
Yes, Shiro helped shape him. He saved him. He gave him a chance and a purpose and when he found himself on the other side of the universe, it didn’t trouble him because when he looked to his right, Shiro was _there._ War changes people, he knows. Violence changes people. Cohabitating and having only a handful of people in the universe to turn to can change you. It changed him. He knows all of that. He knows these things are part of their relationship, that they can’t be taken out or undermined. But he doesn’t love Shiro for _any_ of those reasons.  
  
It’s something else; something visceral that isn’t just the accumulation of a dozen meaningful moments. It feels more tangible than that. Like he was born to know him. To support him. To need him. To love him. Like the universe wants them _together_. Haven’t they found each other again and again under impossible circumstances?  
  
A tear rolls down his cheek and he doesn’t wipe it away. He doesn’t know how to say any of those things aloud. He doesn’t know how to tell Shiro how he feels because it’s so much bigger than he feels.  
  
When the nurse leaves the room, Shiro leans closer and his voice cracks when he speaks.  
  
‘Keith, how do you feel about me? I need you to tell me’.  
  
Before either of them can say another word, the door swings open again and an officer Keith doesn’t recognise sticks their head around the corner. She has red hair and a flushed face. She looks harried and Shiro turns.  
  
‘Admiral,’ she says.  
  
_‘What is it?’_  
  
‘Admiral?’ Keith questions. He wipes the tear from his cheek.  
  
‘We have a situation,’ she tells Shiro. ‘You’re needed down below’.  
  
Down Below. What does that mean? The workshops and the labs are down there. A hundred scientists all working on defensive weapons and god knows what else. _Admiral._ Shiro’s emergency promotion is extreme. Then again, how many command officers are left? Shiro has the experience. He got it in the field.  
  
‘A situation?’ Shiro asks.  
  
The redhead glances furtively between them and lowers her voice.  
  
‘It’s highest clearance only, sir’.  
  
Shiro gestures like he has no idea what that means, then he follows the woman’s gaze to Keith and actually laughs. He shakes his head and cradles his forehead with lax fingers like he is developing a headache.  
  
‘He _has_ clearance for whatever this is.’  
  
Shiro sighs and stands regardless. His features soften and he begins doing up the buttons on his jacket. He is no longer off-duty. He is frustrated, but his features soften when he approaches the bed and he changes his tone.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Keith, I’ll be back. Get some rest’.  
  
Keith is too stunned by the interruption, he just smiles and nods in agreement, like he hasn’t told Shiro he has feelings. Like he wasn’t moments from telling him he _loves_ him. Maybe the universe slammed the door in his face for a reason. He watches Shiro leave the room with a strange feeling of emptiness. Worryingly, he doesn’t care what is going on below the Garrison. Maybe, it’s another life-altering crisis.  
  
He rolls onto his back and stares at the ceiling and feels that cold feeling inside him spread out.

 

*

  
  
An hour later, he feels worse than ever. He feels clammy and his heart is racing. He doesn’t know why. Nothing has changed. He has lain quietly on his bed and thought of very little. He didn’t torment himself thinking about Shiro or the _what-ifs_. He doesn’t think about the latent fear still humming in his body. A nurse tells him Hunk has left the hospital and Pidge will leave today too. Tomorrow, Allura and Lance. She checks his vitals and takes his temperature and says he may need a few days longer.  
  
The thought makes him ill. When he closes his eyes, there is a darkness so oppressive it shocks him. It _scares_ him. He doesn’t know what it is. Without Shiro in the room, he has no distraction to keep himself afloat.  
  
When a second nurse comes in thirty minutes after the last, she talks about the fight days earlier. She saw his Lion fall to Earth. Keith follows it down in his mind. He feels the weightlessness and the sickening drop. In his mind, he sees the ground approaching. He jolts upright in panic and Kosmo blinks into existence on his lap. Keith grabs the fur of his neck and closes his eyes.  
  
_Get me out of here._

  
*

  
His mother finds him first, but not for hours. He is asleep when she forces the door open. Keith watches from the bed like he is watching a film. He hears a loud sound and then strong fingers pull the weighted doors apart. He isn’t surprised or unsurprised to see her. He feels detached and off. Not himself. Kosmo unfurls at his feet and changes position.  
  
‘Everyone is looking for you’.  
  
‘Sorry’.  
  
‘You’ve been missing for hours’.  
  
‘Nobody thought to check my room?’ Keith asks.  
  
‘This is not your room,’ Krolia says.  
  
Keith looks around in confusion. All these Garrison quarters look the same. Now that he has slept more and isn’t in the haze of a distressing panic, recognition dawns on him. This room is full of familiar things, but they don’t belong to him.  
  
‘This is Shiro’s room,’ he realises.  
  
He wanted to go somewhere safe. He rubs Kosmo’s ear in gratitude. This is a little on the nose. Still, people would have checked his own quarters. He didn’t want anyone to find him. He just needed to run away. Why, he didn’t know. Even now, he feels the same panic inside him, the size of a bud, ready to flower at a moments notice.  
  
‘Are you alright?’  
  
Krolia moves into the room and crouches in front of the bed.  
  
‘You can talk to me,’ she says.  
  
‘I know’.  
  
She scrutinizes him. When they were first getting to know each other better in the quantum abyss, her searching glances made him uncomfortable. Now, he accepts them and appreciates them. She seems to glean things intuitively. She spares him the need for talking when it’s hard. So for now, she doesn’t convince him to return to the hospital. She just asks a question.  
  
‘Do you intend on staying here? I would like to know where you are’.  
  
Keith shrugs. He doesn’t know where he’ll be in five minutes time. It depends whether or not other people know he is here. If they do, where can Kosmo take him next?  
  
‘How did you know I was here? Does anyone else know?’  
  
‘I smelled you when I was searching,’ she says. ‘I told Shiro’.  
  
‘No-one else?’  
  
‘No’.  
  
Keith smiles faintly to comfort her. Shiro will let him stay. He will understand.  
  
‘Then I guess I’ll be here’.  
  
She smiles softly and lays a hand on his arm. It’s a comforting gesture but it prickles at his skin. It makes panic rise up in him again. He flinches and she stands, sensing the change. He grimaces in frustration. _What’s wrong with me?_ He is so on edge. He can’t stand it. She looks at him with sympathy.  
  
‘I’ll be close by if you need me,’ she says. Looking at Kosmo who pricks his ears when she addresses him, ‘If he becomes more unwell, take him to the infirmary’.  
  
Kosmo’s ear twitches in recognition and Keith says goodbye to his mother. He is so grateful to have found her. Every day he is more and more grateful. Even when he is difficult, she accommodates him with ease. Maybe, they are just alike.  
  
When the door opens five minutes later, Keith is sitting up in the bed, waiting. When Shiro comes through the door, he looks harried and unsettled. He audibly slaps the controls beside the door to close it and Keith sees the tension in him.  
  
‘Are you okay?’ Keith asks, by default.  
  
Shiro laughs and runs long fingers down his face like he is trying to wash away the day. He shakes his head and his hands drop to his side. His uniform is unbuttoned almost to the bottom. His hair is a little mussed.  
  
‘No,’ Shiro answers simply. ‘Don’t do that to me again’.  
  
‘Do what?’  
  
‘The head nurse told me you were feeling unwell, then five minutes later I got a second call telling me you were in distress and disappeared. Literally vanished. And nobody could find you. It’s been three hours, Keith’.  
  
‘I’m okay’.  
  
‘And if you weren’t? Kosmo could have taken you anywhere. What if he took you somewhere and something happened? You’re not well. I thought you were lying unconscious in the desert somewhere. I had to ready a search party in case I couldn’t find you’.  
  
Keith frowns. Shiro’s voice is rough and shaky. He can see the stress running away has caused him. It wasn’t intentional. He didn’t know where he was going, he just had to get away. Kosmo dropped him onto a bed in a dark room and he burrowed in. He didn’t think.  
  
‘I’m sorry,’ Keith says again. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t know where I was. He dropped me on a bed and I just went to sleep’.  
  
‘Why did you leave the infirmary at all?’  
  
Keith looks away and swallows hard. He shrugs. It’s a frustrating, impotent response but he can’t give a better one. If he tries to explain himself and this stupid _thing_ making him sweat, he might cry. He just isn’t himself. He doesn’t feel okay.  
  
‘I’ve called off the search,’ Shiro says calmly. ‘Nobody is looking for you’.  
  
Shiro can sense his need to run, he just don’t know where it’s coming from. His tone softens and he undoes the last two buttons on his jacket. He sits tiredly in the chair by his desk and cradles his head again. Shiro looks worn down. When he next speaks, it is slow and quiet and so unlike his usual self, Keith lifts his head immediately.  
  
‘Did I make you run?’ Shiro asks, concerned. ‘Earlier, when I asked you how you felt. Was I pressuring you?’  
  
Keith’s lips part in surprise. It’s so absurd he lets out a quick sad laugh.  
  
‘No,’ he answers.  
  
Shiro looks relieved but then his features tighten again and he says something that looks infinitely more difficult for him to say.  
  
‘Last week, you spent the night with me,’ he says delicately. ‘Did I make you feel like you had to do that? Did you feel obligated, because I was having a hard time?’  
  
Keith’s eyes widen in surprise. Is that what Shiro thinks happened last week? That he used his influence to force a hand-job out of him? Shiro thinks these things happened against his will?  
  
‘I touched you because I wanted to,’ Keith says simply. A shaky breath edges out of Shiro’s throat and they make eye contact. ‘Because I have feelings for you, and I’m attracted to you, and I thought we might die. I thought it was my last chance to be close to you’.  
  
Saying it aloud, Keith feels such a swell of relief, but the bud of panic in him grows. Not a lot, but a little. Kosmo raises his head, sensing it.  
  
‘Why did you let me touch you?’ Keith asks in return.  
  
‘Because I wanted you to,’ Shiro answers.  
  
_‘Why?’_  
  
Shiro’s shoulders slump, like he never anticipated this conversation. He loosens the collar around his neck.  
  
‘Because I have feelings for you that I can’t explain away anymore by telling myself we’re good friends, or that we have a lot of history,’ Shiro says weakly. ‘And I tried to explain them away. I _really_ did’.  
  
‘Why?’  
  
Shiro shrugs and his eyes begin to water. He swallows with difficulty. Whatever he is about to say is so incomprehensibly difficult for him. This is the first time Keith has ever seen him like this.  
  
‘I wanted to do right by you, Keith. I wanted to steer you in the right direction. Up there, with Voltron, I felt responsible for all of you. It was my fault that we left Earth. I took everyone away from their families. I put everyone in danger’.  
  
‘That’s not true’.  
  
‘Yes, it is. I asked too much of all of you, but you especially. Because when I found myself on the other side of the universe, I was glad you were there. I was happy to have a friend close by. You were all I had left from home’.  
  
Keith’s heart begins to break.  
  
‘Then, after a while, I realised I didn’t know you at all. You’re not the same Keith I knew before all this happened to us. Over time, I came to rely on you more and more. The first time you risked your life to save me, I was so racked with guilt. At the same time, I didn’t chastise you because I was grateful. Because it _meant_ something to me. People gave up on me my whole life. Everyone I ever cared about. I realised early on, I had to control my own life. Nobody was going to hold me up. I had to go it alone,’ he says. ‘I thought Adam was the change, but he wasn’t. I probably knew that earlier than I wanted to admit’.  
  
A tear rolls down Keith’s cheek.  
  
‘Then one day, in Voltron,’ Shiro says, ‘I asked you to do something crazy and you did it. Not because I was the head or because you agreed with me. But because you trusted me. Because the second we went through that first wormhole and got spat out the other side, you were holding me up and I didn’t realise. You never gave up on me, Keith. Not as a kid. Not as a man. Not in death. And you never would, would you?’  
  
‘No,’ Keith whispers emotionally. _‘Never’._  
  
‘How could I not love you?’ Shiro asks, voice breaking. ‘When we met the Blade of Marmora the first time, they tried to take your knife. I remember thinking if they tried to stop you from leaving or if they harmed you, I would kill them. I would sacrifice our best shot at defeating Zarkon, for you. The recklessness of that decision surprised me. After that, there was no more pretending’.  
  
Keith feels his stomach drop. That was such a long time ago. Shiro has cared about him all this time? All the wasted months and years between then and now stretch out into a cavernous void. This changes so many things between them.  
  
‘Why didn’t you _say_ anything?’  
  
‘I was meant to be looking out for you,’ Shiro says. ‘I thought it was unfair to say anything. If you didn’t feel the same, you would never trust me again. You would look at me differently. Maybe it was wrong of me to feel that way at all. You respected me once. Me developing feelings felt like taking advantage somehow'.  
  
Keith’s lip quivers and a tear falls into his lap.  
  
‘Do you _love me,_ Shiro?’  
  
'Yes'.  
  
Something in Keith tightens and snaps. He hangs his head and another tear rolls down his cheek. All that wasted time. All those horrible memories. All those _good_ memories. Every one of them made different knowing this. Every time he saved Shiro from the brink, every time he lost him and then _found_ him--- the ache and pain of loving him was mutual?  
  
When Shiro opened his eyes after death and said _you found me_ \--- he meant it. Keith caves under the simple fact that he is important to somebody. That of all the people in this universe who could love him, it is the one person whose love he needs.  
  
‘I have loved you for so long,’ Keith answers him tiredly. ‘I wasn’t holding you up because I was a good person. I didn’t refuse to give up on you because of that. I spent the first fifteen years of my life giving up on people because they gave up on me first. Without you, I would have spent the rest of my life not knowing I could feel. You changed everything for me. Because I loved you, I learned to care about other people too. I made friends. I’m starting to trust them. That’s all on you. In what universe would I not want your love?'  
  
‘You're giving me too much credit’.  
  
Keith shakes his head and lifts his head.  
  
‘Shiro, I would really like it if you came and sat next to me now’.  
  
He would get up himself but he doesn’t feel well enough. His skin feels clammy again and not because of these confessions. In the middle of what should be an incredible moment of release, he still feels off and unwell.  
  
Shiro sits on the bed beside him and they stare at their feet.  
  
‘What happens next?' Keith asks.  
  
‘I don’t know what happens next’.  
  
‘When you look at me now, do you wish I didn’t know?’ Keith asks.  
  
‘Yes? No?'  
  
_‘Choose’._  
  
Shiro grimaces but his shoulders ultimately loosen.  
  
‘No. I don’t regret telling you’.  
  
‘Are you attracted to me?’ Keith asks, feeling cold all over. He pushes through it. Even when he feels faintly dizzy. ‘Or are your feelings different to mine? You didn’t stop me when I touched you last week’.  
  
Shiro swallows hard at this bluntness.  
  
‘No. I didn't. Because I enjoyed it _,_ ’ he says. ‘Of course I'm attracted to you’.  
  
Keith takes this news with equanimity, but he stands and walks a few feet before turning around. He feels sweat prickle at his hairline. His hands begin to shake. He feels that panic starting to swell. Shiro notices and stands too. He holds a hand out between them.  
  
‘Keith, sit down---’  
  
‘I’m okay’  
  
‘No, you’re not. What’s going on?’  
  
Keith grimaces and turns again, walking a few feet further before turning around. Shiro just said he loves him because he’s his rock. Because he holds him up and never gives up. He doesn’t need to break the illusion by telling Shiro that he is afraid. Because what is he afraid of? A fight that happened days ago? That he won?  
  
‘I’m taking you back to the infirmary. You’re not well’.  
  
‘I’m fine,’ Keith stresses. ‘My body is fine! It’s my---’ the rest goes unsaid. _My mind. This is all in my head. It’s not real._ He closes his eyes and sways, so he opens them again. Shiro is right beside him in an instant with an arm around his lower back.  
  
‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me,’ Keith whispers. ‘Since I woke up, I just feel--- _afraid._ It’s like a cold hand inside my chest. I’m so tense. My heart pounds and I get dizzy. It makes me nauseous. Earlier, the nurse talked about the fight and Voltron breaking apart and I just had to get out,’ he says, pained. ‘It’s so stupid. I feel like a child’.  
  
Shiro looks down at him with such intense sympathy, Keith’s face contorts. He almost cries. When Shiro talks to him, his voice is unsteady but so full of kindness and warmth.  
  
‘Keith, what happened to you was traumatic. It’s okay that you’re not okay’.  
  
‘Traumatic? How many fights have we endured? We go through the same thing every day,’ he protests. ‘All of us. How many times have I almost died? It’s never done this to me before’.  
  
Maybe once, after fighting Shiro’s clone on the satellite. He had nightmares for weeks. He felt this then, he just pushed it away because Shiro needed him. The real Shiro. By the time the danger with Shiro was over, Keith had repressed the damage done to himself.  
  
‘Unfortunately,’ Shiro says carefully, ‘we don’t get to pick and choose which trauma’s stay with us or do the most lasting damage’.  
  
And maybe this is from experience. Shiro has become adept at burying his traumas, watching them erode with time. If left to his own devices, he will do the same again with the accumulative stress he has felt since his resurrection. Shiro being able to smile now doesn't erase the memory of the night they spent together or the tears that Shiro shed from being touched. Maybe they both need help.  
  
‘Well, _we should_ get to choose'.  
  
Shiro frames his face lightly with open palms, metal and flesh. He presses their foreheads together. Keith closes his eyes and fists his hands in Shiro’s shirt. It’s embarrassing how calming this touch is. He speaks quietly.  
  
‘How do I fix it?’  
  
‘There are no easy fixes. Just time, mostly’.  
  
‘That’s not what I want to hear,’ Keith whispers. ‘I don’t want to be weak’.  
  
Shiro withdraws so they can see each other. He strokes Keith’s cheeks with his thumbs.  
  
‘This isn’t weakness. You just need time and care. You need to cut yourself some slack. I know what this is like,’ Shiro says knowingly. ‘I’ve been through this, and I _know_ it’s hard. It didn’t make me weak. It doesn’t make you weak either. It’s going to be okay’.  
  
‘Yeah?’  
  
‘Yes,’ Shiro answers. ‘I _promise_ you’.  
  
Keith closes his eyes, comforted by Shiro’s presence, the one person in this universe he will never run away from, so he is surprised to feel Shiro’s lips on his forehead. He doesn’t see it coming. He keeps his eyes closed, suddenly bone tired. His legs begin to ache. His shoulders sag.  
  
‘Say you love me again,’ Keith whispers. ‘Was that real?’  
  
Instead, Shiro plants a gentle kiss on his lips. Warm and soft.  
  
Keith feels the floor go out from under him and a sudden lurch. When he opens his eyes, Shiro is lowering him into an infirmary bed with Kosmo by his ankle. Shiro gives a knowing nod to the wolf.  
  
‘Oh,’ Keith whispers, frustrated. ‘You betrayed me’.  
  
‘No,’ Shiro answers, ducking down. ‘This is out of love’.  
  
Keith scoffs but Shiro ignores him. He pulls the blanket over Keith’s legs, up to his chest,  then pulls the same seat from earlier back to his bedside.  
  
‘I’ll stay with you,’ Shiro says. ‘But you’re not well. You have to stay here until they release you’.  
  
‘And then what?’  
  
Shiro smiles tiredly and gets comfortable in his little chair.  
  
‘Then, I guess we’ll get to know each other better’.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you for reading to the end!! This can be considered the prologue to [this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16939365).


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